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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147509">The Helltrackers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales'>NickelModelTales</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Afterlife, Angels, Bad Taste, Comedy, Dark Comedy, Death, Demons, F/M, Heaven, Hell, Historical References, Hypnotism, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, References to Hitler, Religious Content, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:33:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A truly bizarre and tasteless erotic hypnosis adventure:  When the worst of Hell’s condemned escape to Earth, a less-than-virtuous young woman is Heaven’s last chance to stop them.  Unfortunately, the villains have a slimy hypnotist in their midst…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Seduction and Volcanoes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I actually wrote this story several months ago but did not post it, as I was afraid it was even more offensive than my usual tasteless smut.  The plot gets into conceptions of the afterlife, and thus trods over religious subject matter.  There are also some cameos that might upset historically-minded readers.</p><p>But a supportive friend of mine read the draft, and thought that because the tone was fairly tongue-in-cheek, this story might still find an audience.  After thinking about it, I finally decided to post this work, if only to see what happened.  My apologies in advance if you find it crude.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>Italy, 2010</em> </strong>
</p><p><em>Rubino di Mare</em> was a glittering luxury resort, right on the Gulf of Naples.  Designed to resemble a modern-day Imperial Roman villa, the hotel twinkled at the center of twenty beautiful acres of carefully-manicured gardens.  The guests here were wealthy, spoiled, arrogant, used to obscene privilege.  At <em>Rubino</em>, the champagne flowed, the laughter never stopped, and enormous sums of money were gambled away without a second thought.</p><p><em>Rubino</em> was perhaps a forty minutes’ drive from the heart of Naples, which meant the hotel could offer its pampered guests a taste of country living without being too far from the trendy shops and restaurants of a major European city.  For those guests who were especially lazy, there was also a picturesque village, just to the south of the hotel’s grounds.  There, one could find the local winery, a gourmet cheese shop, five-star tailors, and three seaside cafes.  “Charming” was the word most often associated with the little tourist-friendly hamlet.</p><p>But the real scenic attraction to <em>Rubino</em> lay to the northwest.  There, looming over the deluxe hotel and countryside, was Mount Vesuvius, dark and foreboding.  If the name of that mountain seems familiar, you no doubt remember Vesuvius’ contribution to ancient history:  In 79 AD, the top of the mountain exploded, utterly destroying the Roman city of Pompeii in a furious torrent of lava and ash.  The volcano has grumbled and experienced minor eruptions since – most inconveniently, the last was during World War II – but nothing approaching the rage and destruction it displayed in ancient times.</p><p>To merely glance at Vesuvius is to know the sheer violence of its past.  It is one of the few mountains on Earth where the top is completely blown off.  Vesuvius has no peak; instead, there is an enormous crater where its pinnacle once stood.</p><p>*********</p><p>Saturday nights was the time to be at <em>Rubino di Mare</em>, especially if you had several hundred thousand <em>euros</em> you could afford to lose at roulette.  The <em>Rubino</em> casino became an enormous cocktail party, where men in tuxedos and women in designer dresses mingled, got drunk, and threw away small fortunes, all without the slightest consideration.  The laughter echoed for miles around.</p><p>Off the main casino floor were several bars.  The northernmost bar stood before great panoramic windows that looked up toward Mt. Vesuvius.  No-one drinking there, of course, took any notice of the frowning mountain.</p><p>No, on the bar’s television, one could see a news report on another dreadful volcano that had just blown its top, way, way, way out in Indonesia.  The images of sobbing refugees were depressing, indeed.</p><p>But the sound on the television was muted.  All the better for the merrymakers to enjoy <em>Rubino</em>’s festivities!</p><p>A gentleman in his late thirties paused at the bar, then ordering a <em>Solignac</em> cognac from the bartender.  He was tall, modestly built, but with a small belly beginning to push outward as he grew older.  His face was modestly attractive – brown eyes, puffy cheeks, thinning hair, large nose – but what he lacked in sex appeal, he made up for in style and taste.  His tuxedo was by Burberry, his shoes by Salvatore Ferragamo, and his black satin bowtie by Dior.  His haircut was neatly trimmed, and his manicure even neater.  His watch was <em>Parmigiani Fleurier</em>; his cologne was custom.</p><p>The man accepted his drink, but did not tip the disappointed bartender.  He sniffed the alcohol, swirling it in decanter.</p><p>As the man reveled in the aroma, his eye wandered.</p><p>There was beautiful young lady across the bar, watching him carefully.  As their eyes connected, she smiled, just slightly.</p><p>Oh, if the man was common-looking, this woman was <strong><em>exceptionally</em></strong> breathtaking!  Her face was a realization of absolute perfect beauty.  Large, blue eyes were shining out from soft, flawless skin.  Red lips were carefully pressed together in that alluring smile.  The woman’s cheekbones were high and delicate, wonderfully complimenting her small nose.  Loose, curly brown hair rained down her scalp and swanlike neck, creating a curtain of alluring loveliness.</p><p>The woman wore a shimmering black dress, possibly by Givenchy…?  The man was taken aback at how the dress receded to show off the woman’s bare shoulders and arms, then dipping downward to show off just a little cleavage.  Black beads, woven into the fabric, tapered down the woman’s lean torso, then circled her slender waist.  Her skirt ended just above her knees, but that was enough to let you know that she had wonderfully curvy legs.  Men all around were stealing jealous glances at this feminine treasure.</p><p>The young woman held her gaze on the man with the cognac.  Her smile grew a little wider.</p><p>Then, to the man’s astonishment, she slipped off her barstool, smoothed the folds of her dress over her taut belly, then glided over to him.</p><p>“Good evening,” the woman murmured in perfect Italian.  “Are you alone?”</p><p>“Er, I am,” replied the man, also in the native tongue.  “Would, uh, you care to join me?”</p><p>The woman smiled knowingly, then nodded at the brandy decanter.  “I’ll also have one of those,” she told him.</p><p>*********</p><p>The woman was named Chiara; she was twenty-four, a former art student at the <em>Sapienza Universit</em><em>à di Roma</em>.  As she talked, she laughed naturally, occasionally touching the man on his forearm.  She made sure to smile as she gazed into his eyes.</p><p>Chiara had quite a biography.  “Right now, I’m an art appraiser,” she told the man.  “It doesn’t pay much.  I actually made more working nightclubs in my student days.”</p><p>“You were a bartender?” the man guessed, fascinated.</p><p>“Well, not exactly,” Chiara confessed.  “I worked at <em>Ballare Sul Porto</em>, but as a bar waitress.  It was-“</p><p>“Oh, I’ve heard of that place!” the man exclaimed.  “That was the nightclub right on the edge of the harbor?  The one with a panoramic view?”</p><p>“That was it,” nodded Chiara.</p><p>The man adopted a conspiratorial expression.  “Yeah, so were you there when…?”</p><p>“When the cops raided it and shut it down?” Chiara demurred.  “No, no, I was long gone by then.  And no, I never saw the Mafia guys who were running the joint.”</p><p>“Lucky you,” the man told her.  “You could be in prison otherwise.”</p><p>The young woman blushed, moving to stand a little closer to her companion.  “What’s your name?” she asked softly.</p><p>The man faltered, a little.  “Lorenzo,” he replied.  “Lorenzo Esposito.”</p><p>Chiara smiled, her blue eyes twinkling.  “Well, Lorenzo Esposito,” she murmured, laying a delicate hand on his elbow, “I’m having such a wonderful time with you.”  Her voice grew even softer.  “But we could be having an even more wonderful time.”</p><p>Spellbound, Lorenzo nodded.</p><p>“So, its nine hundred euros for the first hour,” Chiara said, her voice still soft.  “Then eight hundred for every hour after that.  But for you, darling, I can be yours for the whole night.  Only five thousand.  Mmm?”</p><p>After a pause, Lorenzo nodded again.</p><p>*********</p><p>The couple slipped into an elevator, then headed to <em>Rubino di Mare</em>’s North Wing, sixth floor.  Up there, the rooms were quiet.  The cleaning staff had long since returned to the village; the hotel guests were partying away on the ground floors.</p><p>Lorenzo led Chiara down the corridor, finally pausing at Room 6B-193.  He fumbled with the keycard, then gestured for his rented date to enter.  She did, her amused smile never leaving her face.</p><p>“Shall we have champagne, darling?” she asked, stepping into and surveying the small room.</p><p>Although he wore expensive labels, Lorenzo didn’t believe in spending lavishly on accommodations.  This room was one of <em>Rubino’s</em> lesser apartments.  Only a bedroom with a small bathroom, plus kitchenette.  The only window looked up at the dark mountain.</p><p>“Champagne?  Er, sure, sure!” Lorenzo agreed quickly.  “Tell you what, I’ll, uh, just freshen up, and then we’ll begin?”</p><p>“Darling,” Chiara said, “you do have my donation?  We should settle the formalities before the celebration, after all.”</p><p>“Donation,” echoed the man.  “Right.  Cash is fine?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Okay,” Lorenzo mumbled.  “Er, you need it in an envelope or-“</p><p>“Whatever is easiest for you, my love,” Chiara told him.  “Tell you what:  You attend to those matters, and I will prepare our drinks?”</p><p>Lorenzo nodded quickly.  “Sure!”</p><p>The man stepped into the bathroom and shut the door.</p><p>Chiara’s smile instantly dropped.  She moved to the minifridge, and now she didn’t bother to walk with her earlier seductive grace.</p><p>Inside the refrigerator, there was a single black bottle with gold foil on the label.  <em>Festa a Buon Mercato</em>, perhaps the cheapest champagne on the market.  Chiara frowned, but tore off the foil and popped the cork.  Then, after locating and filling two flutes from the cupboard, she quickly dipped into her purse.</p><p>Her fingers emerged with a small baggie of white powder.  Taking great care, Chiara tipped the slightest amount of the powder into one of the flutes.  The substance dissolved instantly.  She resealed the baggie, concealing it once more within her purse.</p><p>Then bathroom door opened.  Lorenzo had stripped off his suitcoat, vest, and tie.  He stepped forward, a stack of bills in his outstretched hand.</p><p>“This is enough, right?” he asked.  “For a whole night?  I mean, for sex, right?”</p><p>Chiara hesitated.  “<em>S</em><em>í</em>, darling,” said, reaching for the money.  “Although for future reference-“</p><p>“You’re under arrest,” Lorenzo interrupted.  His voice was now cold.</p><p>The young woman froze, her expression went slack.  “I… beg your pardon?” she asked, feigning confusion.</p><p>From out of the bathroom, two more men appeared, both wearing <em>Rubino di Mare</em> security uniforms.  One was holding handcuffs.</p><p>Lorenzo pointed to the pair of champagne flutes on the kitchenette counter.  “Have those analyzed,” he ordered the two security men.  “In her purse, you’ll find some knockout powder, I’m sure.  We have to make sure one of those drinks has the drug in it.”</p><p>“Hey, what do you fucking think-“ Chiara protested.</p><p>“<strong><em>Shut up</em></strong>,” snapped Lorenzo, no longer playing the charmed dimwit.  The man stood taller now.  His eyes and voice were hard, icy.  “You’ve been preying on the men at the casino for too long, <em>segnorina</em>.  You thought <em>Rubino</em> management wouldn’t take notice when so many of our male guests claimed to have been drugged and robbed by a beautiful whore?”  He snorted.  “Well, that ends tonight.”</p><p>“Don’t you touch me!” shouted Chiara.</p><p>“Aw, get her the fuck out of here,” snarled Lorenzo.  “Hotel security will have some pointed questions, before we turn her over to the police, anyway.”</p><p>The officer with the handcuffs reached for Chiara.</p><p>*********</p><p>In that moment, there was a terrible roar from somewhere far, far away.  The hotel room shook, as if <em>Rubino di Mare</em> were a small boat at sea.  Lamps toppled over, and two framed pictures fell from the walls.  Chiara and the three men were nearly thrown off their feet.</p><p>The lights flickered, then went out.</p><p>“Oh my God…!” Lorenzo gasped.</p><p>Chiara followed his horrified gaze out the window.  To the northeast, a great plume of smoke, fire, and glowing rock was rising up from the mouth of Vesuvius.  Bright, angry lava was spewing into the air, and rushing down the mountainside at frightening speeds.  And the sky was inky black, with no stars in sight.  The ground outside was visibly shaking.  A horrid, burning smell was filling the air.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Mount Vesuvius was erupting!</em> </strong>
</p><p>Chiara and the policemen all stared in a paralyzed terror.  As they watched, great chunks of flame-licked stone began raining from the sky.  They could hear smashing noises outside, following by the desperate honks of car horns and screaming people.</p><p>As she stared, Chiara’s sharp eye darted back up to the sky.  She spotted one fiery rock in particular, hurtling through the night sky, zooming in her <strong><em>exact</em></strong> direction.  Although there were hundreds of pieces of airborne debris, this one caught her eye because it was clearly growing larger and larger at too fast a speed.  It was charging toward the very spot where she stood, as if deliberately fired from a cannon.</p><p>“<strong><em>OH SHIT!</em></strong>” screamed the young woman.  “<strong><em>RUN!!!</em></strong>”</p><p>All four people scrambled for the room’s exit.</p><p>There was a thunderous explosion, and the hotel bucked like a wild horse.  Chiara was flung forward.  She heard glass shatter, timbers ripped apart, metal screech, plaster crumble.  The smell of burning cloth – and worse – was suffocating.  The very hotel trembled and swayed, and for one nauseating moment, Chiara wondered if the building was about to collapse.</p><p>The young woman was unceremoniously tossed out into the dark corridor, landing on top of Lorenzo and one of the security goons.  Where the other policeman was, she couldn’t say.</p><p>The meteor had smashed into their room, utterly destroying it.  Now, the flaming rock, easily the size of a grand piano, was plunging downward, crashing into Room 5B-193, and then Room 4B-193, and so on.  Horrible crunching noises filled the air, interlaced with screams of terror.</p><p>The building shuttered again, <strong><em>badly</em></strong>.  Another volcano-thrown rock had struck the <em>Rubino</em>, not far away.</p><p>Chiara groaned.  Her vision swam.  Her ears and head were ringing, and she felt bruises cropping up all over her body.  Her eyes stung with smoke.  It was hard to breathe.</p><p>Choking, she forced herself to her feet, surprised at the wave of nausea that nearly overcame her.  Her vision blurred even more and began to spin.  One of her high heeled shoes was missing.</p><p>Another large stone hit the hotel, perhaps several floors below.  The walls trembled, and the ceiling began to shower dust and small bits of plaster.</p><p>Chiara coughed, hard.  She staggered forward, doing her best to get her thoughts in order.  Everything was upside-down, somehow.  The Vesuvius had <strong><em>erupted?</em></strong>  No, that couldn’t be!  Why, she’d just saw something on TV the other day about how scientists predicted that…</p><p>“Hey!” a choked voice cried out.  “Stop her!”</p><p>It was Lorenzo, still lying on the carpet.  He twisted his body about, and was pointing at the young prostitute with a wild look in his eyes.  “Stop her!” he rasped again.</p><p>The other policeman climbed to his feet, reaching for Chiara.</p><p>In times of great trauma, people sometimes latch onto familiar drives that once made sense, but do not contribute to their immediate survival.  Chiara was no expert in human psychology, but she knew the two security men were still hoping to arrest her, even if the <em>Rubino</em> was falling apart around them.</p><p>Well, she wasn’t about to humor them.  Kicking off her other shoe, the young woman turned and raced down the hallway.  Her legs ached, but she pushed herself nonetheless.</p><p>“Hey!!!” bellowed Lorenzo.</p><p>And then, there was an earsplitting crash.  Most of the northern wing of <em>Rubino di Mare</em> collapsed into rubble and flames.  Chiara barely outran the disaster as she reached the door to the emergency stairwell.</p><p>*********</p><p>Thankfully, the stairway door still opened.  Chiara threw it open and started descending as quickly as she dared.  The red emergency lights had activated, coloring the stairs with an evil, blood-like glow.  The young woman hurried as fast as she dared, her heart pounding away in her chest.</p><p>She couldn’t see much beyond the concrete flight of stairs just before her.  Not far off, she could hear fire alarms frantically clanging, and then a panicked announcement on the hotel intercom:  “<em>Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing a very serious emergency.  Please head toward the nearest emergency exit immed-</em>“  The broadcast burst into static, then went dead.</p><p>As Chiara flew past the fourth floor, there was a glow of white, bright light, high above her.  Confused, the young Italian woman paused, and looked up just as the light grew brightest.  For a heartbeat, the entire stairwell was perfectly illuminated.</p><p>Then the light vanished, and Chiara was left half-blinded.</p><p>Over the din of the fires, alarms, distant sirens, and the <em>Rubino</em>’s groaning, Chiara could now hear two voices, speaking in strangely-accented Italian.  A woman’s voice cried out, “Do you see her?”</p><p>Now a man replied:  “No!  But she’s nearby, I know it!”</p><p>The woman sounded exasperated.  “Nearby?  Be specific, dude!”</p><p>“Just… nearby!” the man replied.</p><p>Chiara swayed on her feet.  She could feel the stairs beneath her trembling.  She blinked, desperately willing her vision to return.</p><p>“I declare, Bara,” the man’s voice scoffed, “for someone who’s done this as long as you have, you’d think-“</p><p>“Wait!” the woman cried.  “I see her!”</p><p>Chiara squinted, realizing her eyes were adjusting to the dim lighting.  She peered upward, toward the direction of the voices.  There, high above her on the fifth floor landing, was a young woman, beautiful in complexion.  Her thick, blonde hair seemed to glow in the failing light.  She was leaning over the railing and pointing straight at Chiara.</p><p>A stab of fear struck the Italian woman.  Who <strong><em>were</em></strong> these new people?</p><p>Beside the woman, a second face appeared, a man.  He too, was physically lovely, with thick blonde hair that rivaled the woman’s in luminance and volume.  The man fastened her eyes on Chiara.</p><p>“You there!” he barked.  “Don’t go anywhere!”</p><p><strong><em>Shit!</em></strong> Chiara thought in a panic.  The damned hotel was collapsing, and the cops were <strong><em>still</em></strong> pursuing her!</p><p>The young Italian woman turned, fleeing down the stairs.</p><p>“Wait, wait!” Bara the woman called after her.</p><p>The <em>Rubino</em> moaned loudly, and the entire stairwell began to buckle.</p><p><em>Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,</em> Chiara thought in sheer horror.  Without thinking, she raced toward the third floor entrance, and hurled herself through it.</p><p>There was a horrendous crunching sound, and stairs broke up behind her.  Chiara turned around just in time to see the concrete and steel crack and crumble, before raining down like an avalanche of stone.</p><p>*********</p><p>Now on the third floor, Chiara realized… she was trapped.  The stairs were destroyed, and she couldn’t see another exit.  The elevators were dead.</p><p>Most of the rooms were locked.  However, Room 3B-87 was open and abandoned.  Chiara rushed to the windows, thinking to force them open.  Maybe she could climb out and reach a nearby tree or something…?</p><p>But the thick window glass was superheated, and beginning to slowly melt.  She couldn’t risk touching it.</p><p>Tears of fear and despair were now openly streaming down the young prostitute’s face.  How could it be that now, now of all nights, <strong><em>she was about to die</em></strong>, either by fire or being crushed?  It seemed impossible to comprehend.</p><p>Beyond the window, Chiara could see Vesuvius, still vomiting flames and rock into the black air.  The sides of the great mountain were covered in bubbling lava, all rushing to consume the rest of the hotel at a frightening rate.</p><p>“There you are!” a voice exclaimed.</p><p>Chiara whirled around.</p><p>There, before her, were the mysterious blonde man and woman.  Both stood there, perfectly calm, looking almost relieved.  Their beautiful faces seemed to be emitting their own light, as if they were part firefly.</p><p>Chiara’s panic-stricken brain noted one other highly unusual detail:  Both man and woman were completely naked.  <strong><em>COMPLETELY</em></strong> naked, not wearing so much as a ring or a tattoo or anything on their feet.</p><p>And perhaps even more astonishing was that <strong><em>the man had no penis</em></strong>.  His groin was completely bare, not unlike the Ken dolls Chiara used to play with as a little girl.</p><p>In fact, both of the nude strangers lacked any genitals at all.  The woman was also formless.</p><p><em>I’m going insane</em>, Chiara wisely concluded.</p><p>After all, what would you think, were you unfortunate enough to be in her shoes?</p><p>“Come,” the woman said nervously, stepping forward and extending his hand.  “Please come with us, or else…”</p><p>“Don’t ask her permission!” the man snapped.  “Just take her.”</p><p>But the woman waved her comments off.  “Listen to me,” she said intently to Chiara.  “This hotel is <strong><em>seconds away</em></strong> from complete destruction.  Will you come with me?”</p><p>Desperate, Chiara nodded miserably.  She reached for the woman’s hand.</p><p>And then, the <em>Rubino di Mare</em> wailed in anguish, collapsing completely.</p><p>*********</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ninth Level Jailbreak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Terrified, Chiara dropped into a protective fetal position.  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.  Her heart was pounded furiously in her chest.</p><p>Nothing happened.</p><p>Slowly, the young woman coaxed her eyelids open, just a crack.  Her vision was immediately stabbed by a bright, blinding light, almost painful to behold.  Chiara swore, and clamped her eyes shut.</p><p>“Ech.  You see?” the man’s voice said, annoyed.  “She’s <strong><em>completely</em></strong> unsuitable.”</p><p>“I doubt that,” Bara’s soothing tones replied.</p><p>Chiara forced herself to slow down her breathing, then dared to squint again.  The light was less painful now.  All she saw was soft white.  Nothing more.</p><p>It was hard to say where she was.  Everywhere she looked, she saw only pure white.  She was standing on something firm and completely white.  There was no dust or dirt visible on this surface at all.  The white extended from beneath her feet in all directions, presumably to a pure white horizon that marked the undetectable boundary into a pure white ceiling… or sky?  Chiara stretched out her arms, but her fingers could make no contact with any solid surface, save for the floor.</p><p>Where <strong><em>was</em></strong> she?  In a room?  A chamber?  A cloud?  The beautiful Italian woman had no idea.</p><p>The air was warm and pleasant, and lightly smelled of flowers.  Light was streaming in from… somewhere.  But Chiara could detect no lightbulb, no sun, no lamp, nothing from which the illumination came.  Light just seemed to be… everywhere.</p><p>Chiara looked down at herself.  She was still wearing her Givenchy dress, although it was ripped and singed in different places.  Her bare legs were covered in bruises, scratches, and a few nasty cuts.  Both her feet were bare, and quite dirty.</p><p>“I really hope you know what you’re doing, Bar,” the mysterious male voice said crossly.</p><p>Chiara turned.  There, behind her, was the naked man and woman.  She could have sworn that they weren’t there before, but… well, there they were now.</p><p>As the young Italian stared, she realized the man and woman were subtly changing.  At first glance, they appeared to be perhaps Norwegian: tall, white, with shining blonde hair and crystal blue eyes.  But then Chiara blinked, and realized that their skins were tanner, their eyes and hair were darker.  Within a few heartbeats, they were distinctly African.  And then perhaps South American.  And then unmistakably Asian.  And then they were other variations that she could not begin to guess.</p><p>What was remarkable is that they two strangers did not seem to be physically changing.  One moment, they were of one ethnicity, the next, they were instantly another.  Yet there was no blurring between features when they shapeshifted.  By some trick on the eyes, Chiara could not tell when the transformations were taking place.  It was a bit distracting.  One moment, she would be focused on the man and woman’s eyes, only to realize their faces had reshaped themselves yet again.</p><p>And at all times, a soft glow seemed to emanate from these two strange people.  Sometimes the luminance was bright; at other times, faint.  But always there.</p><p>Regardless of what form they held, the man and woman were <strong><em>always</em></strong> beautiful.  Their naked bodies were permanently sleek, well-muscled, without the slightest detectible imperfection.  The woman – Bara – stood confidently, her arms and legs elegant, her hands delicate and feminine, yet obviously containing great power.  The man was also muscular, and perhaps if circumstances had been different, Chiara would have been attracted to his toned abs, round biceps, tapered hips, and mighty leg muscles.</p><p><em>And if he had a cock, I’d be all over him,</em> the Italian woman thought idly to herself, unable to resist a revolted glance at Michael’s bare groin.</p><p>The man frowned, studying Chiara with a mixture of distain and disappointment.</p><p>“Hey,” the Italian woman demanded.  “Where the fuck is this?  Where did you bring me?”</p><p>The man grunted, then slid a disgusted look at his feminine companion.  “And to think,” he remarked, “once they used to throw themselves to the ground and beg for my mercy whenever I appeared.”</p><p>“Times have changed, Michael,” the woman replied.</p><p>Try as she might, Chiara just couldn’t get over the blatant nudity of the two strangers, Michael and Bara.  And their complete lack of genitals was really starting to weird her out.</p><p>“Okay, Jesus Christ, could you guys… put on some pants?  Or something???” she blurted out.</p><p>Michael and Bara cringed as she spoke.  The nude woman protested, “Yeah, but we-“</p><p>“<strong><em>Just put something on, okay?!?</em></strong>”</p><p>Michael let out a sigh, and suddenly he was wearing an all-white business suit, complete with white shoes and a white tie.  The only spot of color was a small blue crest on his lapel; the crest was fashioned in the shape of a sword and shield.  Next to him, Bara was now clad in a simple beltless white dress, billowing from her graceful shoulders down to the floor.  Small, white rosebuds decorated the neckline.</p><p>“Better?” Michael asked, annoyed.</p><p>Chiara relaxed.  “Okay, who the fuck are you guys?” she demanded.  More to herself, she started mumbling, “I’m somewhere in a coma, right?  Like, I’m lying in a hospital bed hooked up to an IV, they’re feeding me some really good drugs, and-“</p><p>“Chill, girl,” Bara said smoothly.  “You’re in Heaven.”</p><p>Chiara’s throat went dry.</p><p>“No,” the young Italian woman said reflexively.  “Come off it, a’right?”</p><p>“They never believe us anymore,” Michael muttered ruefully.  To Chiara, he said plainly, “You need proof?  Fine.”</p><p>He pointed to something over the young woman’s shoulder.</p><p>*********</p><p>Chiara turned.  Behind her, perhaps three meters away, she saw two men.  The first was Lorenzo Esposito, looking exactly as he had looked in the seconds before the <em>Rubino di Mare</em> had been destroyed:  White shirt, tuxedo pants, black leather shoes, perfect haircut.  Lorenzo was looking about, an expression of pure dismay on his face.</p><p>The other, far older man was dressed in a billowing white robe, and seated behind a very plain white desk.  This desk was so featureless, it was little more than a cube of pure white.  How the little man was sitting, Chiara couldn’t say, for there did not appear to be a chair.</p><p>The seated fellow was impossibly old, but not frail.  His worn, pale skin looked like crushed parchment, and his gaunt hands seemed to be little more than bones.  He hunched forward, peering through thin, silver spectacles that were perched on his dagger-like nose.  His bright eyes were lively.  And a thick, white beard tumbled down his chin and into his lap.</p><p>“Come, come, Mr. Esposito, let’s take a look at you,” the old man said.  An enormous book suddenly appeared under his wizened hands, opening itself to a specific page.  The old man squinted, his fingers racing over the printed words.</p><p>“I… I am dead?” Lorenzo said fearfully.</p><p>“I am afraid do, Mr. Esposito,” the old man replied, and he did sound quite sympatric.</p><p>Lorenzo glanced about, and for a second, his eyes nearly connected with Chiara’s.  She shrank back instinctively.</p><p>“Relax,” Bara whispered.  “He can’t see or hear you.”</p><p>“Ah, here you are, Mr. Lorenzo,” the old man announced, stabbing a knobby finger at the text before him.  “Let’s see…  Aged thirty-eight.  Regular churchgoer, that’s good.  Giver to charity… although not much…  Husband and father of three, I see.  Oh.  Oh dear, that’s always sad to see.”</p><p>“Please, sir,” Lorenzo begged.  “My children… they need their papa.”</p><p>“I’m quite sorry, Mr. Esposito,” murmured the old man.  “There’s nothing that can be done about that now.”</p><p>He resumed reading the book, and suddenly his expression darkened.  “Oh dear… you repeatedly <strong><em>beat</em></strong> your wife, sir?”</p><p>“Ah…” Lorenzo said, his jaw going slack.  “I, er…  Well, I have a very stressful job, and I-”</p><p>“I do believe that in your wedding vows, you promised to ‘<em>honor and cherish</em>,’ no?” the old man harrumphed.</p><p>“I…  I…  I…” stuttered Lorenzo.  “I mean…  Wait…!”</p><p>The old man scowled, still reading.  “There was also a great amount of pride in your life, Mr. Esposito.  Far too much pride.”</p><p>Turning red, the Italian man shifted on his feet.  “Who are you to judge me, old man?”</p><p>“Who indeed?” the elderly fellow said sadly, intertwining his fingers and resting them atop the book.  “I am sorry for your fate, sir, but it is the fate you made for yourself.  Alas.”</p><p>The old man twitched a finger, and suddenly Lorenzo vanished in a burst of flame.  His anguished cry echoed in the still air.</p><p>In that moment, suddenly Chiara knew: <strong><em>it was all real</em></strong>.  There <strong><em>was</em></strong> a Heaven.  Everything she’d been told and witnessed was <strong><em>absolutely true</em></strong>.</p><p>“Oh, <strong><em>fuck!</em></strong>” she exclaimed aloud before she could stop herself.</p><p>“Language!” snapped the old man, throwing a sharp glare in her direction.</p><p>“Sorry, sorry, Pete!” cried Bara, stepping forward with both hands raised.  “Mike and me, we’ve got this…!”</p><p>The old man grumbled something, but said no more.  He shut his book.  And within a few seconds, he faded into nothing, and was gone.</p><p>*********</p><p>Chiara felt physically nauseous.  She had hardly led a virtuous life.</p><p>“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…!” she muttered over and over, clasping both hands over her despairing eyes.</p><p>“Girl,” Bara said to her, concern in her voice.</p><p>“I’m in fucking <strong><em>Heaven?</em></strong>” wailed Chiara.  “Sister Mary Florence and the nuns were right all along?  Oh, fuck!”</p><p>“Aw, great,” muttered Michael.  “Here we go…  ‘<em>There has to be some mistake!</em>’  ‘<em>Can’t I have more time?</em>’  ‘<em>Will I meet God?</em>’  Ugh.”</p><p>“Mike!” Bara scowled.  “Cut the poor girl some slack here, can’t’cha?  You know mortals don’t adjust to our reality very well.”</p><p>“Just once,” the male said, rolling his eyes, “I’d appreciate it if – <strong><em>just once</em></strong> – a human could just say, ‘<em>Gee, it was really awesome that you lifted me up from that horrid Earth and transported my soul to the Eternal Reward, so thanks for that.</em>’  Is that so much to ask?”</p><p>While reeling, Chiara’s quick mind was fitting clues together.  Suddenly, old lessons from Catholic school were flooding back to her.</p><p>“You guys…” she stammered.  “You’re <strong><em>angels</em></strong>.  You’re <strong><em>fucking angels</em></strong>, aren’t you?”</p><p>“The better term is <em>celestial</em>,” Michael replied, looking perturbed at Chiara’s profanity.</p><p>Chiara stared stupidly.  “You’re… the archangels Michael and Barachiel,” she said numbly.  “From the fucking Bible.  Oh, Jesus.”</p><p>The angels’ expressions twisted in discomfort.  “Can you… please… speak a little more respectfully?” grimaced Bara.  “We don’t have a lot of cussing up here in Paradise.”</p><p>A glaring question leapt into Chiara’s mind.  “Shouldn’t you guys have… you know, halos and dove wings?  And how can you be a woman?” the Italian woman demanded of Bara.  “I thought all angels were male.”  At least, that’s what Sister Mary Florence had taught.</p><p>“Celestials have no gender, dear,” Bara said patiently.  “We exist on an elevated plane of conception.  Your mortal brain conceives our appearance and language in a way that makes sense for you.”  She paused, eyeing Chiara’s sickly expression with concern.  “Look, you aren’t gonna barf, are you?  This is going to be a lot easier if you can just get on board with what I’m saying.  ‘kay?”</p><p>“You guys are fucking angels…” moaned the young woman.  “Oh, <strong><em>fuck me</em></strong>…  I mean… Jesus Christ…!”</p><p>“Gah!” Michael winced, covering his ears.</p><p>“Just take a breath, okay?” advised Bara.  “In fact-“</p><p>“So this is it?” Chiara interrupted, her anger spilling over.  “I’m fucking dead?  Great.  I mean-“</p><p>“You’re <strong><em>not</em></strong> dead,” Bara told her firmly.</p><p>There was a pause as the Italian woman processed that simple statement.</p><p>“I’m not…?” she echoed.  “Wait… <strong><em>what???</em></strong>”</p><p>“Look, Chiara, girl,” Bara said, her expression growing serious.  “I’ll be straight with you: we need your help.  Normally, we would have let you die in <em>Rubino di Mare</em>.  But there’s simply too much at stake.”</p><p>All Chiara could say was:  “…huh?”</p><p>Bara rubbed her forehead, weighing what to say next.  “So, tell me …  What do you know of Hell?”</p><p>Chiara gestured helplessly.  “Well… obviously, it’s the worst place in Existence, right?  Where the bad people go after they die.”</p><p>“Right, right, obviously,” nodded the female angel.  “What else?”</p><p>Chiara exhaled, trying to force her brain to work.  “Well… Dante said there were… nine?  Nine levels of Hell.  The ninth level is where the worst of the Condemned people go.”</p><p>Michael and Bara exchanged a hard glance.  “Yeah, spot on,” Bara affirmed.  “Nine Levels.  Dante had that down pat.”</p><p>“One of these days,” remarked Michael, “I’m gonna have to ask him: ‘<em>Where did you get your inside info, bro?  Who leaked the secret?</em>’  Cause I’m betting it was Raphael.  Or maybe Gabriel.”</p><p>“Any<strong><em>hoo</em></strong>,” Bara said, shooting an annoyed look at her fellow archangel, “as you said, the Ninth Level is where the absolute worst of the worst of the Condemned are imprisoned.  When the Boss designed human beings, He really wanted every man and woman to have that divine spark, that ability to know love and forgiveness, no matter how many bad decisions that person might have made in life.”</p><p>“But a tiny handful,” she continued, her eyes becoming haunted, “lose that spark.  They lose the ability to know any love at all.  They become engines of pure hatred, driven only by a lust to inflict suffering upon others.  They are creatures of utter darkness, so far gone from the human heart, they may not be human anymore.  The acts <strong><em>those people</em></strong> have committed…”</p><p>Bara visibly shuddered.</p><p>“Okay,” Chiara said.  “So why…?”</p><p>“Last night,” Michael informed her, “every Ninth Leveler in Hell escaped.”</p><p>The Italian woman blinked.  “Escaped…?” she repeated.  “Wait, what do you mean <em>escaped?</em>”</p><p>“Well, Hell is essentially a giant prison, right?” said Michael.  “Oh, don’t ask me how they run the place – I honestly don’t know – but Hades is an eternal penitentiary for over a hundred thousand trillion of the Damned.  Oh, sure, there are minor spirits and demons sneaking out every now and then, but essentially, the place is the Big House of the Afterlife.”</p><p>“And we thought it was locked up tighter than a drum,” Bara added heavily.</p><p>“Last night, something bad happened, something <strong><em>really</em></strong> bad, and the Ninth Level was ruptured,” Michael went on, his face grave.  “The Ninth Levelers overpowered their guards, tore through the Gates of Hell, and then made a beeline for Earth.”</p><p>“Fuuuuuuuuck me,” said Chiara.</p><p>Bara recoiled as if she’d been slapped.  “Would you… <strong><em>please</em></strong> stop with the swearing?” she implored.</p><p>Chiara, however, was too focused on Michael’s tale.  “You guys, you’re sure about this?” she asked.</p><p>“<strong><em>Quite</em></strong> sure,” Michael assured her.</p><p>“So then what?” Chiara demanded.  “Once the Hell’s Worst got out, why didn’t you guys <strong><em>do</em></strong> something?  You’re supposed to watch over humanity, right?”</p><p>The angels looked uncomfortable.  “In the old days, we’d have stormed down from Heaven’s Gates and knocked heads together,” admitted Michael.  “But the Boss has new policies now.  We can’t <strong><em>directly</em></strong> interfere.”</p><p>There was something in the way he said “<em>directly</em>.”  Cocking her head to one side, Chiara prodded, “…but you can <strong><em>indirectly</em></strong> do something?”</p><p>Michael shifted on his feet.  “Er…”</p><p>“Just tell her,” Bara said flatly, still looking chagrined.  “We need her help, remember?”</p><p>Frowning, Michael locked eyes on his Italian guest.  “Fine.  So, we angels have maintained a small force of human mercenaries on the Earth.  <strong><em>Super</em></strong> secret, understand?  Known only to us.  It was an idea we hit upon in the Crusades, and well…  We just kept it going.”</p><p>“Do tell,” Chiara said, folding her arms.</p><p>Speaking delicately, Michael confessed, “Whenever there is a need for divine intervention of a… er, forceful manner, we can call upon these secret warriors.  I can’t tell you where they are headquartered, so don’t ask.  Most of the time, we keep them busy just rounding up the minor ghouls or troublemakers who occasionally sneak up to Earth.  But occasionally, we need to deploy them at full strength.  Like during the Werewolf Outbreak of 1843, for instance.”</p><p>“I’ve never heard of that,” the Italian woman said.</p><p>“Exactly,” Michael nodded.  “They work in secret, outside of your history.  They <strong><em>never</em></strong> interfere in human affairs, only in extra-spiritual matters.  Their name has shifted over the ages, but right now they call themselves the Seraphic Preservers.”  He allowed himself a sly grin.  “But I rather prefer the nickname that the younger soldiers coined: ‘<em>The Helltrackers.</em>’”</p><p>“Perfectly ridiculous,” said Bara, shaking her head.</p><p>“’<em>Helltrackers</em>’ sound like a bad rock band,” Chiara agreed.</p><p>“<strong><em>Regardless</em></strong>,” Michael harrumphed, his face going red, “we of course deployed the ‘trackers the moment we heard about the Ninth Level jailbreak.”</p><p>“Okay,” said Chiara.  “So… then what?”</p><p>Michael’s proud expression slipped into a worried look.  “The Enemy is cunning,” he sighed.  “They fooled us, making it appear that they were preparing to breach the Earth in the land called…  What is it called now?”</p><p>“Indonesia,” informed Bara.</p><p>“Right,” Michael said wearily.  “We dispatched the ‘trackers to Indonesia, only for the Ninth Levelers to <strong><em>actually</em></strong> penetrate the mortal realm in-“</p><p>“In Naples,” Chiara said in stunned realization.  “They caused a volcano in Indonesia to fool you, but they <strong><em>really</em></strong> came up through Mount Vesuvius.  Didn’t they?”</p><p>“She’s not as dumb as she looks,” Michael remarked to Bara, something approaching admiration in his voice.</p><p>“The eruption of Vesuvius was so violent,” explained Bara, “because that much wicked energy, all concentrated, is incredibly explosive.”  She sighed heavily.</p><p>“So… where are Hell’s Most Wanted right now?” Chiara asked, looking between the two angels in alarm.</p><p>“We don’t know,” admitted Michael.  “We are looking, of course, but there are limits to our vision.  I’m fairly certain that the Ninth Levelers would head to the nearest city, however.”</p><p>“Why?” Chiara asked.</p><p>Michael gave her a <em>You Can’t Be That Stupid</em> look.  “If you were locked up in prison for decades, centuries, or even millennia, where would you go upon escape?  Into the countryside?  Or into a city, where you can easily find and taste all the earthly pleasures you once knew?”</p><p>Chiara nodded.  “Ah.”</p><p>“The Helltrackers are, of course, racing to Naples even now,” Bara told her.  “But they’re on the other side of the world.  There’s still at least half a day before they can reach the Enemy.”</p><p>“Assuming the Enemy stays put,” grunted Michael.</p><p>The wheels in Chiara’s head were working furiously.  Having a criminal’s perspective was giving her insight the two angels lacked.</p><p>“No,” she said suddenly.  “The Ninth Levelers know about your private mercenaries, right?  So, the Wicked Dudes will be <strong><em>expecting</em></strong> the Helltrackers, I’d imagine.  And setting some sort of trap.”</p><p>Michael tilted his head.  “What makes you say that, mortal?”</p><p>“Because,” replied Chiara, annoyed, “if I were an evil monster without any soul and the Holy Cops were coming to get me, that’s exactly what I would do.”</p><p>The two angels looked at one another in surprise, considering Chiara’s words.</p><p>“It makes sense,” Bara finally admitted.</p><p>Michael’s mouth tightened.  “I’ll alert the ‘trackers,” he said.  “They’re highly experienced.  Chances are, they’ve already thought of this.”</p><p>Chiara’s calculating mind was still working overtime.  “Soooo…” she wheedled, “you guys said you needed my help?  What for?”</p><p>“Ah,” Bara exclaimed.  “Yeah, we were getting to that.  So it is far too troubling to us that, well, the Ninth Levelers are on Earth, right now, and we have no way to track them.”</p><p>“So you want me to do that?” Chiara deadpanned.  This was not what she was expecting.</p><p>“Its not an ideal situation,” admitted the female angel, “but – just leveling with you here – we’re desperate.  All you have to do is go back to Naples,” she added quickly, “look about, and spot the Enemy from a distance.  Keep an eye on them.  When the Helltrackers arrive, you pass along their location to us, and then that’s it.  Get out of there.  You’ve served your duty.”</p><p>Chiara stared at Bara.  “That’s fucking bonkers,” she protested.  “What, I’m to wander the streets of Naples, looking for what?  A bunch of guys with devil horns and goat hooves?  Are you serious?”</p><p>Bara looked pointedly at Michael.</p><p>The male angel looked embarrassed.  “Aw, man…  Er, look, you’ll be able to spot them.  It won’t be a problem.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Chiara said, completely unconvinced.</p><p>“Okay, I really didn’t want to get into this,” grumbled Michael, “but… well, some time ago, before the Boss implemented the ‘<em>No Interference</em>’ policy, I, ah, visited one of your ancestors.  Came to her while she was in prayer, revealed her destiny to her, sent her off to a war, changed the course of human history, yadda yadda yadda.”  He looked uncomfortable at the memory.</p><p>Chiara’s jaw dropped open.  Her ancient family had lived in France since the Middle Ages.  “You’re talking about… <strong><em>Joan of Arc?</em></strong>”</p><p>“Joanie, right,” said Michael.  “Sweet kid.”</p><p>“You’re saying I’m <strong><em>fucking related</em></strong> to <strong><em>Joan of Arc?</em></strong>” Chiara almost shouted.  “But… Joan had no descendants!”</p><p>“Not recorded in history, dear,” Bara said quickly.  “Look, we track these things pretty closely, and you are most definitely one of Joanie’s distant offspring.  Just… go with it, okay?”</p><p>Michael continued:  “Now, while I didn’t spend a whole lot of time with her, angelic visits can give mortals the Divine Sight, which just means they can see the energies of the Astral plane.  Joanie gained it, and you inherited it.”  He nodded.  “While the Ninth Levelers will appear to be common humans, you’ll be able to spot them.  You’ll even be drawn to their location, I’ll bet.”</p><p>“I see,” Chiara said, still feeling blindsided.</p><p>Bara locked the Italian woman in a steely gaze.  “So,” she said, “this is what we need you to do.  Do you understand?”</p><p>Chiara pushed aside her stunned feelings.  It was time to negotiate.</p><p>“Well,” she said slowly, “this whole thing sounds <strong><em>miiighty</em></strong> dangerous.  I’d be risking life and limb, wouldn’t I?”</p><p>“Not if you keep your distance,” Bara replied, puzzled.</p><p>“I’m not convinced about that,” Chiara said.</p><p>“Well, you’ll just have to take my word,” the female angel told her.  “Now, if we can-“</p><p>Chiara put up both her hands.  “You guys aren’t <strong><em>getting</em></strong> me,” she said stubbornly.  “Why should I stick out my neck for this?”</p><p>The two angels exchanged perplexed looks.  “Because we’re <strong><em>commanding</em></strong> you to do it, mortal,” Bara replied flatly.</p><p>Inside, Chiara grinned to herself.  She had the celestials right where she wanted them.</p><p>“Yeah, what’s in this crazy scheme for me?” she said bluntly.  “Its time to talk compensation.”</p><p>Bara’s brow wrinkled.  “I don’t get it,” she said to Michael.  “Is she <strong><em>refusing</em></strong> us?”</p><p>“How the times have changed,” Michael frowned in disgust.</p><p>“It just seems to me,” Chiara said lazily, “that doing this job for you does you guys quite a service.  But it would be nice to know I’m being valued for my time and effort.  Like, perhaps a ‘<em>Get into Heaven Guaranteed</em>’ card, eh?  That sounds fair.”</p><p>The angels glowered at the human woman, uncertain of what to say next.  But then Michael shrugged.</p><p>“Let’s put it this way,” he said, a disapproving look on his face.  “We’re about to set you back down on Earth.  Once you’re there, you can do what you like.  Free will, and all that jazz.  Should you decide that all we’ve told you means nothing, okay then.  Go on your way, live your wicked life, and we’ll see what happens when you die and come back here for your postmortem judgement.”  He flashed a coy smile.  “I’m sure you and Pete will have a lot to talk about.”</p><p>“But then, there’s Option B,” the angel went on.  “You go to Naples, snoop about, spot the Ninth Levelers, and report in.  That’s it.  We’d be… grateful.”</p><p>Chiara’s own smile was fading.  Michael had seen through her stratagem.</p><p>“The choice is yours,” Michael said grandly, and then gestured with his hands.</p><p>And everything went white.</p><p>*********</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. To Naples</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>Signorina?</em>” the medic said anxiously.  “<em>Signorina</em>, can you understand me?”</p><p>Chiara blinked.  She was sitting on the back of an ambulance, an emergency blanket around her shoulders.  It was nighttime; all around her, people were speaking.</p><p>The young woman craned her neck about.  She was in a large parking lot, with ambulances parked in a disorganized formation.  All around her, there were medical professionals, tending to other dazed-looking people from the <em>Rubino di Mare</em>.  Many were being treated for burns.</p><p>“<strong><em>Can you understand me?</em></strong>” the medic said urgently, gripping Chiara by the shoulder.  She flashed a penlight in Chiara’s field of vision.</p><p>“Gah!” the young prostitute cried, pulling away.  “Yes!  Yes, I hear you fine!  I’m fine, I’m fine!”</p><p>The medic frowned.  “You’ll need to be checked for a concussion,” she said sternly.  “But otherwise you seem alright.  Get over there.”  She indicated a line of homeless <em>Rubino</em> guests, all waiting to talk with a nurse holding a clipboard.</p><p>Chiara blinked, standing on her own two feet.  In the distance, she could see Mount Vesuvius, now bathed in a dark red lava, with an enormous column of evil, gray smoke rising up into the black night sky.  From this distance, Chiara could see the flaming ruins of the <em>Rubino</em>, as well as the small village to the south.</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” she muttered to herself.</p><p>She had no memory of how she got to this parking lot, but it didn’t seem to matter.  She was alive!  Considering the fate of Lorenzo Esposito, this seemed to be a good deal indeed.</p><p>Chiara got onto her feet, relieved to see she was wearing plastic slippers, a gift from the emergency responders, no doubt.</p><p>Nearby, a middle-aged couple were huddling together.  “Where did the cop say that shuttle to Naples was, again?” the woman said, looking about.</p><p>“There,” her husband said, pointing.</p><p>After a split-second of consideration, Chiara followed them.  She wasn’t certain she wanted to do the angels’ bidding… but there was nothing for her here.  That much was certain.</p><p>*********</p><p>The shuttle bounced along local roads before turning onto the E45 North.  The passengers remained silent, lost in their own haunted thoughts.</p><p>Chiara sat alone, rubbing her forehead.  The events of the last few hours seemed too unbelievable.  Thinking back, she was uncertain what had happened, and what she’d imagined.</p><p>As if sensing her doubt, the voices of Michael and Barachiel suddenly appeared in her mind.</p><p><em>You’re doing great, girl</em>, Bara assured her.</p><p><em>Listen,</em> Michael chimed in, sounding worried.  <em>We can’t see anything happening in Naples right now.  That’s a bad sign; the Ninth-Levelers are definitely there, and they’re up to something.</em></p><p><em>So just get to the city,</em> urged Bara.  <em>Check the place out, find them.  You should be drawn to them, so trust your instincts.</em></p><p>Michael piled on:  <em>Yeah, but don’t let them know you’re there.  The instant you spot where they are, say a prayer to Bara or me.  We can’t see you, but we’ll hear your prayer.  The instant you do that, we’ll have all we need.</em></p><p><em>The Helltrackers are still four hours away,</em> fretted Bara.  <em>Their helicopters are outside Spanish airspace right now!  So keep your eyes open… and good luck!</em></p><p>And then the angels were silent.</p><p>Chiara let out a shaky breath.  She wished she had time to think.</p><p>*********</p><p>The E45 northbound was nearly deserted, so the shuttle made good time.  Within minutes, it was pulling into downtown Naples.</p><p>By this time, Chiara was in a foul mood.  The more she thought about it, the more she felt used.  The celestials clearly saw her as a pawn of convenience, an experience she knew all too well.</p><p>All her life, Chiara had felt used.  She could see the faces of her abusers, even now.  Her horrid stepfather, who saw nothing wrong in spying on Chiara in the shower during those years when she was completing puberty.  Professor Romano, who had cruelly threatened to fail her in Art History II, unless she gave him blow jobs all semester.  Ms. Valentia, her old landlady, who had accepted a year of Chiara’s rent in cash, only to then turn around and claim that she’d never been paid.  The cop who had shaken her down, taking her wallet and bank card, leaving her penniless one cold December night.</p><p>Everyone in her life had sought to screw her, Chiara thought sourly.  The angels were no different.</p><p><em>Wait</em>, another voice deep within her mind insisted.  <em>Not everyone wanted to screw you.  What about Sister Mary Florence?  That woman loved you.</em></p><p>Chiara paused, thinking about the old nun.  Sister Mary…  Yes, that woman had been a saint.  On the night that Sister Mary died, twelve-year-old Chiara had sobbed until the dawn.  Even now, she could still see Sister Mary’s chubby cheeks, her warm smile, her glittering eyes.</p><p>But that was a lifetime ago.  Where men and angels were concerned, Sister Mary was the exception to rule of Dog Eat Dog.  Chiara frowned, feeling her own heart harden.</p><p>Screw the angels, she decided.  They were just using her, just like all the others.  Let their precious Helltrackers deal with the Ninth Levelers.  Chiara would take advantage of the confusion and slip out of Naples, that night.  By the time the Helltrackers had completed their mission, Chiara would be on the other side of Europe.</p><p>*********</p><p>The shuttle pulled into a parking lot not far from the <em>Castel Nuovo</em>.  Chiara exited with the rest of the passengers, but slipped away before the medics could arrive to check her name against their lists.</p><p>It was perhaps 11PM.  The streets were filled with late-night tourists, plus some local bargoers.  The <em>Galleria del Mare</em> was closing down for the night, and the shopping center’s many employees were filtering out into the night air, wearily chatting and lighting cigarettes.</p><p>Chiara shivered.  The emergency response workers had given her a cheap nylon jacket, but it was doing little to keep out the chilly wind blowing in from the ocean.  Beneath the coat, she was still wearing her casino dress, plus those awful plastic shoes.  She had no purse, so of course her wallet and apartment keys were lost.</p><p>Disgusted, the young woman realized that she had no choice but to flag down a taxi, hitch a ride to her neighborhood, then stiff the driver before he learned where she lived.  After that, she’d break into her tiny apartment, pack her bags… and figure out the rest later.</p><p>*********</p><p>But then, far across the street, two men caught Chiara’s eye.  They were but two figures in a river of people, but to her, they stood out as if they had spotlights trained upon them.  Both men were wearing long coats, hunching over slightly as they moved.  Each carried a large cardboard box in their arms.  They glanced around, yet no-one around them peered back.</p><p>An odd, sickening feeling swept over Chiara as she watched these two.  She felt both curiosity and revulsion at the same time.</p><p>Momentarily forgetting about a taxi, she skipped across the street, worming her way through the throngs of people.  Soon, she had slipped into a casual stride, just meters behind the two strange men.</p><p>And they were strange, indeed.  Now that Chiara was closer, she could see a dim but angry glow of dark red light rising from their bodies.  This aura was highlighted by a thin halo of flames, just barely visible, dancing fire which hovered over the men’s bodies, but provided no heat nor light.</p><p>The men also smelled of a faint burning aroma.  It was as if they’d spent the day manufacturing incense, and the pungent stink was still on their clothes.  The funk wasn’t terrible, but Chiara wrinkled her nose all the same.</p><p>What was amazing was that no-one but Chiara seemed to notice the men’s glow, fire, or stench.  Oh, passersby flinched and shied away from them, but the young woman judged that she alone was aware of their more hideous qualities.</p><p>The men were walking briskly, muttering between themselves.  Chiara, her heart beating quickly, hurried to keep up.</p><p>*********</p><p>Five blocks later, the crowd thinned.  The streetlights become spotty.  The men were moving closer to the harbor, and soon Chiara could spot the dark cargo cranes and warehouses that lined the berths.  The neighborhood became drabber, although there were still a few sailors’ bars here and there.</p><p>Then the two men turned onto Meyerbeer St, and Chiara’s heart leapt.  There, across the avenue, was the <em>Ballare Sul Porto</em>!  The very nightclub where she had once worked, years ago!</p><p>Oh, the <em>Ballare</em> looked <strong><em>dreadful</em></strong>.  It was a standalone two-story building, with the second floor built as a giant loft.  But now all the ground-level windows had been smashed.  Obscene graffiti was splayed across the exterior walls.  The bright, neon signs that once glowed brightly had been stripped away, and there was clearly no electricity going into the building.  Smashed furniture and garbage littered the sidewalk.  And the front doors, once proud, had been boarded up, with a <strong><em>CONDEMNED</em></strong> sign nailed in place.</p><p>But the building was not vacant.  Up on the second floor, Chiara could see the silhouettes of people, hundreds of people, all dancing before the evil flickering lights of bonfires.  The sound of cruel laughter and rock music was waffling down to the street.</p><p>A feeling of pure evil was radiating from the building.  Chiara felt this as clearly as if the wickedness were heat.</p><p>The two strange men Chiara had been following now hurried across the street, heading for the <em>Ballare</em> entrance.  As the young Italian woman watched, they shoved open the doors and then slipped inside.</p><p>Chiara sucked in a breath.</p><p>Every fiber of her being told her that the people inside the <em>Ballare</em> were the Ninth Levelers.  There was no doubt.  Even now, as she peered up toward the loft, the young woman could somehow sense the presence of Hell itself.</p><p>Michael and Bara had been <strong><em>right</em></strong>.  By luck or providence, she’d been drawn to the escapees of Hell.  Now they were holed up inside the <em>Ballare</em>… and apparently having quite a party.</p><p>A wave a relief washed over the young woman.  All she had to do was phone in this new discovery to the angels, and she was off the hook.  Success!</p><p>And yet…</p><p>There was an opportunity here.  Why the Condemned had selected the <em>Ballare</em> as their hangout, Chiara couldn’t say, but the Wicked Ones had chosen very, very poorly.  Thanks to years of neglect, the <em>Ballare</em> had only two remaining ways to get up to that second floor: the service elevator and the emergency staircase in the back.  That was it; even the ancient fire escape had rusted and fallen away, years ago.</p><p>And if Chiara hazarded a guess, the staircase was probably even more stuffed up with debris and garbage then it had been in her day.</p><p>Sooo…  If someone who knew the building very well were to sneak in, lock up or check to see that the stairwell was impassible, and then disabled the elevator… why, every one of the Condemned up on the second floor would be neatly trapped!  Cooped up like fish in a barrel for when the Helltrackers arrived, in just three hours’ time!</p><p>Chiara bit her lip, making rapid calculations.  If she was right, the Ninth Levelers were staying put, just biding time until the Helltrackers would arrive.  But if the fiends discovered that they were trapped, well then, they might be thrown into enough disarray for the angels’ soldiers to pounce and obliterate them in one fell swoop.  The Helltrackers could drop a single bomb on the old nightclub, ridding the Earth of the monsters within <strong><em>and</em></strong> ridding Naples of one architectural eyesore.  Two birds, one stone.</p><p>And who would be the undisputed hero of the hour?  Chiara, of course!  Oh, she’d be able to throw her chest out, lift her chin, and tell the gobsmacked celestials about how <strong><em>she </em></strong>was the one who ensured the Helltrackers’ victory!  And saved the Earth!  That much glory and cunning <strong><em>had</em></strong> to be worth an automatic admission into Heaven, when the time came.</p><p>It was a horribly foolish plan, Chiara knew.  So much could go wrong.</p><p>But the Ninth Levelers didn’t know she was coming.  And, given her own life of crime and mischief, they might naturally sense that she was one of them.  Besides, given the sounds of the party upstairs, it didn’t sound like the Ninthers were terribly worried about a spy.  It didn’t sound like they were preparing for battle at all.  It sounded like the fools were doing their level best to get smashed.</p><p>The young woman made a snap decision.</p><p>*********</p><p>Local residents remembered that the <em>Ballare Sul Porto</em> dated back to the Mussolini era, back when it was easy to bribe the building inspectors.  After miraculously surviving the bombings of World War II, the old girl had served as a textile plant, then a plumbing supplies depot, a butchers’ school, communist party headquarters, a whorehouse, and finally a scam telemarketing company before it made its final debut as a nightclub.</p><p>But whenever the <em>Ballare</em>’s deed had changed hands, the new owners never bothered to upgrade the building to code.  Thus, the old building still had an elevator motor improperly installed on the ground floor, a furnace and boiler that were never up to code, a sprinkler system that hadn’t worked in decades, and much worse.  Chiara was betting that the building had deteriorated even more than she remembered.</p><p>The young prostitute counted to twenty, then hurried across Meyerbeer St.  She listened at the <em>Ballare</em>’s door, but could only hear the thunderous party above.  The two men that she’d followed <strong><em>must </em></strong>have ascended by now.</p><p>She looked about in all directions.</p><p>There was no-one else on the street.</p><p>So Chiara moved quickly, pulling open the door herself.  The old security keypad had been jimmied open, then gutted.  The front doors were completely unlocked.</p><p>She slipped inside.</p><p>*********</p><p>The ground floor was mostly as Chiara remembered it, except much more decrepit and smellier than before.  There was the old coat check room and the street-level lounge, long ago stripped of anything valuable.  From the looks of the place, the homeless had squatted here.  The club admissions booth had also been smashed in, long ago.  One demented person had taken the time to pull down the Seventies-era wallpaper, only to write <strong><em>FUCK THE COPS</em></strong> in black sludge.</p><p>Past the admissions booth, there was a corridor that led to the freight elevator.  Swallowing her nervousness, Chiara moved in that direction.</p><p>She turned a corner, and there, standing before the elevator doors, were the two men that she’d followed.  They were just standing there, staring stupidly at the 1930’s era elevator controls and arguing.  The cardboard boxes were still in their arms.</p><p>Hearing Chiara approach, the two men turned to glare at her through the dim light.</p><p>The man to her left was undoubtedly Adolf Hitler.  The German dictator looked exactly as he had in her history textbooks: the hawklike nose, beady black eyes, shapeless chin, bristling Charlie Chaplin moustache and bad, greasy haircut were all preserved from his time on Earth.  Hitler now wore a plain black suit under his trenchcoat, and a wide-brimmed hat explained how he’d been able to shuffle about modern-day Naples without being recognized.</p><p>His companion was Osama bin Laden.  The terrorist was dressed in a similarly drab suit, coat, hat, plus a pair of dark sunglasses.  As he removed the shades, Chiara decided that he was shorter than he’d appeared on television.  The man looked thin and peaked, although that fierce, defiant glow was still present in his eyes.</p><p>Chiara’s heart flopped.</p><p>“Who are you?” bin Laden demanded.</p><p>The young woman thought fast.  “Er, ah…” she hemmed, “I’m… eh, Florence Henderson.  I was new in Hell; just died a few years ago, you know.”</p><p>“Florence <strong><em>who?</em></strong>” Hitler asked, suspicious.</p><p>But bin Laden’s face lit up with recognition.  “Florence…  No!” he exclaimed, a shocked hand covering his mouth.  “<strong><em>Mrs. Brady?</em></strong>  You wound up in Hell?  Oh, snap!”</p><p>“What can I say?” Chiara shrugged, playing along.  “I was a sweet TV mom, and, you know, a raging psychopath in my spare time.”</p><p>“Yeah, but…” bin Laden said, squinting and moving closer, “you don’t look-“</p><p>“I died from, like, a million dollars of plastic surgery, okay?” snapped Chiara, hoping her ruse was working.  “Besides, the light in here is <strong><em>terrible</em></strong>.”</p><p>bin Laden, studying Chiara’s face, merely nodded and said, “…huh.”</p><p>Somehow, Chiara knew: she was speaking Italian, Hitler spoke in German, and bin Laden in Arabic.  Yet all three could understand one another perfectly.  <em>Maybe this has something to do with that Divine Sight I inherited?</em> she thought in surprise.</p><p>Eager to change the subject, the Italian woman indicated the box in Hitler’s arms.  “What’s that?”</p><p>“Oh,” Hitler grumbled.  “The Overlord sent us out on a cigar run.  We had to murder the tobacconist to get on hands on these.”  He shot an acid look at bin Laden.  ”Only now Mr. Perfect here thinks we swiped the wrong brand.”</p><p>“You <strong><em>did</em></strong> grab the wrong brand,” bin Laden snorted.</p><p>“Did not!” insisted Hitler.</p><p>The Al Qaeda mastermind grunted, then tore open his box.  “Yeah, you totally did, jerkstore,” he accused.  “See?  You grabbed <em>Foglie Mortes!</em>”  bin Laden made a disgusted snorting sound deep in his throat.  “These taste like dried leaves!  You shoulda snagged the <em>Primo</em> <em>Macanudos!</em>”</p><p>“How’m I supposed to know which cigar is better?” Hitler retorted.</p><p>“Dude,” the terrorist mastermind frowned, “you <strong><em>do</em></strong> remember the Overlord’s instructions, right?”</p><p>The color drained from Hitler’s face.</p><p>“Aw, geez, so whadda we do?” the German dictator mumbled.  “We can’t go back to that shop.  Cripes, there must be a million cops swarming over there by now.”</p><p>Chiara chewed her lip, thinking.  If she could keep all the Ninth Levelers in the <em>Ballare Sul Porto</em>, it would make the Helltrackers’ job so much easier.</p><p>“Hey,” she said, hoping she sounded casual, “don’t worry about it.  The Overlord will just be happy to have the smokes.”</p><p>“You really think so?” Hitler said, a terrified look in his eyes.</p><p>“Of course,” Chiara beamed.</p><p>The ugly little fascist looked unconvinced.  But bin Laden shrugged.</p><p>“Whatevs,” he grunted.  “Its your ass.”  He jerked his head toward the elevator.  “Yo, Florence, you know how to work this thing…?”</p><p>Chiara grinned, feeling her confidence surge.  “Here,” she said, moving to the elevator motor, just off to the side.  She pulled a giant lever.</p><p>The elevator doors ground open.</p><p>“Get in,” Chiara said haughtily, already reaching for another control.  As the men moved to obey, she checked an ancient pressure gauge, then threw an enormous switch.  The elevator shuddered.</p><p>“Going up,” the Italian woman announced, then leapt aboard.</p><p>*********</p><p>The <em>Ballare</em> elevator rattled and shook even more than it had in Chiara’s day.  More than once, the young woman reflexively grabbed a rusty handrail and wondered if she was about to wind up with the angels again, this time the old-fashioned way.</p><p>But despite a lot of creaking, the elevator arrived on the second floor, and the doors slowly groaned open.</p><p>Before Chiara was an <strong><em>enormous</em></strong> party.  The <em>Ballare</em>’s dancefloor was packed, with about a thousand or more people dancing about, laughing and shouting and drinking from liquor bottles with abandon.  All the electric lights were smashed, but metal garbage bins contained roaring trash fires, and this satanic light provided enough illumination for Chiara to inspect the partygoers.</p><p>There was Timothy McVeigh dancing away with Maximilien Robespierre and Mary I of England.  Jack the Ripper was there, trying to make a move on Mary.  To their right, Genghis Khan and the Emperor Caligula were standing over a kneeling Jane Toppan, boorishly chanting “<strong><em>CHUG!  CHUG!  CHUG!  CHUG!</em></strong>” as the woman tried to gulp down an entire bottle of Jack Daniels.  Jack Daniels himself was also there, gleefully firing pistols as Vlad the Impaler tossed dinner plates into the air as targets.</p><p>Oliver Cromwell, Pol Pot, Charles Dickens, and Mary Ann Cotton were all staining away in a cutthroat game of Twister.  Beside them, Ivan the Terrible was in a fierce drinking contest with Joel Rifkin; Rifkin did not look like he was holding up very well.  Meanwhile, Saddam Hussein, Marcus Brutus the Younger, Walt Disney, and Albert Fish were placing bets and furiously rooting for their man.  A knife fight had broken out between Judy Garland and Thomas Midgley, and to everyone’s surprise, Judy was quite adept with a blade.</p><p>Elsewhere, Muammar Gaddafi was leading a drunken chorus of singers, swaying back and forth with a bottle in each of his hands.  Gertrude Stein, Miyuki Ishikawa, Judas Iscariot, Blackbeard the Pirate, and the guy who wrote the “Oscar Meyer Weiner” jingle were trying to outdo one another in a truly foul belching contest.  Jane Austen was cackling wickedly as she chased Enver Pasha about the room with a wooden paddle; every time she caught up, Pasha got a good smack in the rump.  And John Wilkes Booth and William McGonagall were both trying to make out with Elizabeth Bathory, but she was having none of their sass.</p><p>Chiara allowed her jaw to drop, completely floored by this grotesque display of history and debauchery, all somehow contained under the <em>Ballare’s</em> roof.</p><p>“C’mon,” bin Laden grumbled behind her.  “Sometime <strong><em>today</em></strong>, I’d like to get off this elevator.”</p><p>The instant Chiara and her two companions exited the lift, two hundred of the Damned swarmed around them, clawing for cigars.</p><p>“Aw, c’mon, you guys!” wailed Hitler.  “These are for the Overlord!”</p><p>“Suck it, Adolf,” Ted Bundy snarled, helping himself to three.</p><p>Chiara scrambled out of the way, then paused to observe the Ninth Levelers interact.  Decades or centuries in Hell had altered their personalities, some to bizarre degrees.  Perhaps in life, these people had been tyrants or psychopaths or simply terrible human beings… but now, they behaved little better than rowdy teenagers.</p><p>But each was evil, pure evil down to their core.  Chiara shuddered, wishing her mission was already over.</p><p>*********</p><p>The <em>Ballare</em>’s dancefloor was largely as Chiara remembered it.  The main floor dominated, but there was a small, thin stage to the south.  In days past, the nightclub owners had hired professional dancing girls to gyrate up there, just to set a party atmosphere.  Behind the stage, enormous plate glass windows looked out onto the harbor.  The building was constructed right on the edge of the peer, so there would be a fifty-some foot drop down into the water, if the glass wasn’t there.  Beautiful, but dangerous.</p><p>The opposite end of the dance hall was where the party was at its lowest ebb.  Chiara found only a few glum Ninth Levelers, sprawled about, nursing bottles of whiskey and snorting cocaine.  The evil merriment did not seem to extend here.</p><p>This was where the rear stairwell could be found.  The old doorway to the stairs was exactly where Chiara remembered it to be.</p><p>But Andy Warhol was slumped up against the door, a half-empty bottle in each hand.  He looked depressed.</p><p>“Hey,” Chiara demanded, gently prodding Warhol with her shoe, “move it, will ya?”</p><p>“Go… (hic)… <strong><em>g’way</em></strong>…” the white-haired artist mumbled.</p><p>But the young woman was not to be deterred.  “I said <strong><em>move</em></strong>, damnit!” she bellowed, now aiming a proper kick.  “Oh, and your tin can paintings <strong><em>sucked</em></strong>, by the way.”</p><p>Warhol scrambled aside, muttering something unsuitable for print here.</p><p>Ignoring him, Chiara grasped the door handle, turned it, and pulled.  The door resisted her, but a little muscle pried it open.</p><p>The stairwell was a now vast, open shaft, dropping straight down.  The stairs themselves had rotted and collapsed, years ago.  There was no escape this way.</p><p>Satisfied, Chiara shoved the door closed once again.  Then, for good measure, she picked up a brick on the floor and smashed off the old doorknob.</p><p>“’Ay, (hic), is you… s-s-s’poseta be doin’ tha’…?” Warhol mumbled.  He then toppled over, and passed out.</p><p>The Italian woman grinned in triumph.  Now, the only way out of this party was taking the elevator.  Once she’d ridden back down to the first floor, she’d smash the elevator motor, and then alert the angels.</p><p>Simple.</p><p>*********</p><p>There was a throng of the Damned surrounding the elevator, however.  The men, in particular, seemed impatient.</p><p>“What’s <strong><em>taking</em></strong> them so long?” Josef Mengele complained.  “Don’t they know how long its been?”</p><p>“Raspy’s saving the best for himself, I’ll betcha anything,” scowled Mao Zedong.  The Chinese leader scowled.  “He always does.”</p><p>There was nothing Chiara could do.  Too many wicked eyes were watching the elevator doors.  She had to wait.</p><p>The building suddenly trembled, and then the elevator went into motion.  Everyone could hear the heavy chains straining as the lift rose up from the ground floor.</p><p>The Wicked Ones broke out into a lusty cheer.</p><p>And then the elevator itself arrived, its doors swinging open.  About twenty young women stepped off the lift, each of them staring about themselves in mild curiosity.</p><p>Chiara felt a wave of concern as she inspected these ladies.  All of them were young, perhaps in their earlier twenties.  Each was extremely beautiful, with elegant faces and large, shining eyes.  They wore short evening dresses, designed to show off their trim but luscious bodies, and there was much cleavage and bare legs to be admired.  Every woman had perfect makeup and hair.  If Chiara had to guess, these ladies had all prepared themselves for a night of dancing at the other exclusive Naples clubs.</p><p>The Wicked men cheered lustily and began pointing and muttering among themselves.</p><p>“Oh… <strong><em>wowzah!</em></strong>” Mengele exclaimed.  “Lookit the tits on that one!”</p><p>“Yeeeeeeeeah,” agreed Atilla the Hun.</p><p>The women, however, appeared obvious, and merely stood in a cluster.  Their faces were completely blank.</p><p>The elevator grunted, then descended again.</p><p>The men’s sexist commentary rambled on.  The women continued to gaze into space.</p><p>Chiara shifted on her feet, growing uncomfortable.  She wasn’t certain what was happening here… but she didn’t like it.</p><p>The elevator returned, depositing another twenty young women.  And then the elevator descended a third time, and returned with yet another twenty women.  The young ladies stood about, blank-faced, seemingly unaware of the evil men ogling them.</p><p>And then, the elevator vanished and returned for yet a fourth time, depositing still more women… but also one man.  This fellow had the same dark red aura as all the other Ninth Levelers, but Chiara did not recognize him.  He was tall and stocky, with a thick, untamed beard on his chin, wild hair flowing down his scalp, and bright, fiery eyes that projected like lasers.  Even dressed in a shabby overcoat and heavy boots, this man exuded power and overconfidence.</p><p>As the man stepped forward, the Ninth Levelers fell into a hushed silence.</p><p>“Well, now!” the bearded fellow bellowed, raising his arms and smirking.  “Did I deliver, or what?”</p><p>The Wicked men broke out into lusty cheers and whoops.</p><p>“I call that blonde!” Tokugawa Ieyasu shouted.</p><p>“No, fucker, she’s <strong><em>mine!</em></strong>” cried John Wayne Gacy.</p><p>Suddenly, all the men were arguing, pointing angry fingers at one another.  Fights were about to break out all over the great room.</p><p>“Guys, guys!” roared the bearded man, no longer looking so delighted.  “Please!  There will be plenty of girls for everyone one!  That is – of course – if you pay me tribute.”</p><p>“<strong><em>Tribute?</em></strong>” gagged William McGonagall.  “The fuck you say tribute?”</p><p>“The girls are mine, and I’ll do with them as I please,” the bearded man gloated.</p><p>“The fuck you will,” retorted Susan Atkins, unfolding from the sidelined female Ninth Levelers.  “You think the Overlord will approve of your little petting zoo?”</p><p>At the mention of <em>the Overlord</em>, the bearded man’s face went white.  “But…” he stammered, “the Overlord said… we were to raid the city for our pleasure.  And there’s nothing more pleasurable than-“</p><p>“<strong><em>WHAT IS THIS?!?”</em></strong> a cold, shrill voice screeched from the back of the room.</p><p>Instantly, every Ninth Leveler froze in terror.  All bickering ceased.  The men began inching away from the bearded fellow.  Someone even cut off the rock music.</p><p>An icy chill gripped the room as a new person strode into the crowd.  Chiara shivered, despite herself.  A horrible feeling was gripping her insides.</p><p>“Oh fuck!” moaned Grand Inquisitor Torquemada in despair.  “<strong><em>It’s the Overlord!</em></strong>”</p><p>*********</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Overlord of the Ninth Level</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Ninth Levelers were shrinking back, leaving the bearded man alone before the young women.  Chiara could hear heavy footfalls crossing the floor.  The raw fear that was smothering the room was now suffocating her, too.</p><p>The bearded man cringed.  “Please, please…” he pleaded, “I only picked up some lovely entertainment for me and the boys.  You understand, don’cha?  Don’cha…?”</p><p>“<strong><em>SILENCE, WORM!</em></strong>” roared the hideous voice.  Every Ninth Leveler jumped.</p><p>And then, Marylyn Monroe, the Marylyn Monroe, the very Marylyn Monroe you remember from a thousand 1950’s pinups and a handful of old movies, appeared.  The blonde goddess was just was beautiful and striking as her images had recorded: large blue eyes, thick red lips, pale but flawless skin.  She wore a plain white dress, that swept over her famous breasts and hips as if painted on.  A pair of matching high heels completed her outfit.</p><p>Chiara stared: while the heels looked small and dainty, each step Marylyn took seemed to shake the <em>Ballare</em> to its foundations.</p><p>At a glance, the movie star appeared sweet and innocent, smiling slightly, almost flirting with your eye.  But Chiara was not fooled.  The dark red aura and flames around Marylyn was thicker and more powerful than any of the other Ninth Levelers.  And her eyes, while physically lovely, betrayed a vicious intellect.  Her stare was intense and cold, and all whom faced it withered before her.</p><p>Chiara was standing in a room with the worst of all humanity, and now the Italian woman had no doubt: the vilest creature in all the Universe was… Marylyn Monroe.  Even now, Chiara was fighting panic, lest the blonde movie star cast those horrible eyes upon her.</p><p>But now, the blonde’s terrible ire was focused on the bearded man.  “<strong><em>What is this?</em></strong>” she hissed, indicating the young women.  Remarkably, the women did not seem to be aware of her presence.</p><p>“Oh, Boss,” the bearded man whimpered, “these… these are just some lovely creatures I hypnotized at the nearby nightclub.  You know, for the boys’ amusement.”</p><p><em>Hypnotized?</em>  Chiara was surprised.  That didn’t completely make sense.  How could the bearded man hypnotize almost a hundred young women and control them all at the same time?</p><p>Marylyn threw a dark glare at her male followers.  All of them shrank back.  “Did any of you fucking wretches put him up to this?” she demanded.</p><p>No-one dared speak.</p><p>“<strong><em>Well?</em></strong>” screamed Marylyn.  Two windows across the room shattered at the raw power of her voice.</p><p>Fu Sheng, trembling like a reed in a tornado, said in a shaky voice, “But lord…  its been so long since any of us have had any pussy…”</p><p>“I <strong><em>hate</em></strong> that word!” Marylyn screeched.</p><p>In a flash, the movie star’s fingers turned into claws.  She leapt forward like a cat, grabbing Sheng in one violent gesture.  The man screamed for a split second, before completely vanishing in a roar of flame.</p><p>Then the air was still.  A black, charred spot on the dirty floor was all that was left of poor Sheng.</p><p>“Anyone else wanna to go back to the Ninth Level?” Marylyn snarled, fixing the other Condemned with a terrible stare.</p><p>Next to Chiara, Hannibal made a quiet choking noise, then wet himself.</p><p>“But lord,” Jeffery Dahmer managed, wringing his hands, “you <strong><em>did</em></strong> say we were to enjoy ourselves.  On the night before we kill off the Helltrackers, and all.”</p><p>Marylyn rounded on the infamous serial killer, only to pause.  “Ah, yeah, the Helltrackers,” she mused.  She smiled – somehow a horrible expression – and then pressed her hands together.  “Oh Jeffy,” she allowed, “you were always my favorite.”</p><p>Dahmer beamed.</p><p>The room visibly relaxed.</p><p>“So… can I fuck that one?” Dahmer asked, and pointed to a tall, beautiful girl in a red dress.</p><p>“What?” shouted Marylyn, a she-devil once more.  “Fuck her?  <strong><em>Fuck you!!!</em></strong>”</p><p>And with brutal motion, she pounced on Dahmer, disintegrating him into flame too.</p><p><em>Oh my God</em>, thought Chiara, truly frightened.  <em>This bitch is completely psychotic</em>.</p><p>Al Capone, standing a few feet in front of Chiara, stepped forward.  “Please, lord,” implored the Chiago mobster.  “Okay, what if the broads- er, I mean <strong><em>ladies</em></strong>, what if they just danced for us?  You know?  We ain’t seen beautiful women dancing in a long time.”</p><p>Marylyn glared, and the other Condemned began inching away from Capone.</p><p>“I mean…” the Chicago mobster said quickly, “…er, well, I meant that-“</p><p>“Wait…!” Marylyn hissed.  She was looking over Capone’s shoulder.</p><p>With complete horror, Chiara realized: Marylyn was staring <strong><em>at her</em></strong>.</p><p>The blonde movie star stabbed a finger directly at Chiara.  She screeched, “<strong><em>Seize that bitch!</em></strong>”</p><p>*********</p><p>Instantly, hands clamped onto Chiara’s arms and shoulders.  Raw fear claimed her.  She screamed and kicked, but the hands simply grew stronger.</p><p>“Let me go, assholes!” she cried, hoping her voice sounded terrifying.  “Let me go!”</p><p>“Bring her,” Marylyn ordered coldly.</p><p>Chiara was roughly hauled through the crowd, then thrown onto her knees.</p><p>Trembling, the young woman looked up.  Marylyn towered over her, a truly sickening expression on her beautiful face.</p><p>“And who…” the movie starlet hissed, relishing the moment, “…do we have here?”</p><p>“I’m Florence Henderson!” Chiara insisted, terrified to hear how small and weak her own voice sounded.</p><p>“The fuck you are!” another woman shouted.</p><p>And then, sure enough, the <strong><em>real</em></strong> Florence Henderson appeared, an angry, crazed look in her eyes.  “Who the fuck are you?!?” she demanded.</p><p>“Yeah, good question.”  Marylyn said darkly, moving her hands so they were ready to grab Chiara.  The young Italian woman could see real flames licking her fingers and palms.</p><p>“Oh my God, oh my God…!” Chiara mumbled to herself.  Her mind raced, desperately searching of a way to escape.</p><p>“<strong><em>ANSWER ME!!!</em></strong>” bellowed Marylyn.  The very air trembled.  The few remaining windows shattered into dust, and large cracks appeared in the walls.</p><p>The terror in Chiara’s heart was almost overpowering.  The young Italian woman forced herself to look upward at her captor.  “I’m… I’m nobody,” she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry.</p><p>Maybe, just maybe, if she played dumb, she might escape?  Hey, it worked once before, on the cops in Rome.</p><p>Marylyn’s face twisted.  She narrowed her eyes, sizing up Chiara carefully.  “You… you boys smell that?” she asked her followers.  She sniffed the air once.  “Ugh.  This girl reeks… of Angels.”</p><p>The Ninth Levelers gasped as one, recoiling.</p><p>“You’re a spy from Heaven, aren’t you, cunt?” spat Marylyn.  “You’re here to lead the Helltrackers here, no?”</p><p>“No,” Chiara said, a little too quickly.</p><p>Marylyn leaned forward, her blazing hand about to grab Chiara’s cheek.</p><p><em>This is it,</em> the Italian woman realized miserably.  <em>I’m fucked.  I’m dead.  Its all over.</em></p><p>Marylyn paused, her cold eyes probing Chiara’s face.</p><p>“Which angel sent you?” she demanded.  “Zadkiel?  The Metatron?  Michael?”</p><p>It took all of Chiara’s courage to remain silent.</p><p>“Fine,” Marylyn groused.  “You’ll tell me all I want to know.”</p><p>The blonde actress straightened.  “Raspy!  Front and center!”</p><p>Now the bearded man approached, still eager not to get too close to his leader.</p><p>“This,” Marylyn gloated, “is Rasputin, infamous for bending weak inferiors like you to his will.  You can willingly tell me what I want to know, or we can tranquilize your soul and force you to obey us anyway.  The choice is yours.  What’ll it be?”</p><p>Chiara set her jaw.  “I can’t be hypnotized,” she insisted.</p><p>“Oh no?” mocked Marylyn.  Her cruel smile dropped.  “Raspy, go on.  Enslave her.”</p><p>The Ninth Levelers seized Chiara once more, yanking her to her feet.  Her body was forcibly twisted, and she found herself starting into the hairy face of Rasputin.  He was grinning at her with a terrible smile.</p><p>“You can’t hypnotize me,” Chiara said boldly.</p><p>“Look into my eyes, girl,” rumbled the dark man.  “Look deeply.”</p><p>“It won’t work,” Chiara told him, gaining confidence.  “Others have tried to hypnotize me.  None succeeded.”</p><p>That much was true.  In her late teens, Chiara’s social worker had assigned her to quack who claimed to be a clinical psychologist.  The pervert had tried to mesmerize her into sex during their only session.  Years later, while attempting to land a job as a stage assistant, a performing magician had tricked her into a hypnotic trance.  She had been pleasantly surprised… until the slimeball commanded her to remove her blouse.  Instantly, she snapped out of it.</p><p>“Look deeper, girl,” commanded Rasputin.  His voice was smooth, belying his wild appearance.  “The Czarina thought she could resist, too.  Look <strong><em>deeply</em></strong>.”</p><p>“I can’t be hypnotized,” Chiara said simply.</p><p>It was true.  Nothing was happening.  All about Chiara, the Ninth Levelers were watching her and the Russian monk carefully, and it made Chiara smile inside to think about how Rasputin was about to meet his humiliation.</p><p>“Look deeper into my eyes,” the man coaxed.</p><p>Chiara sighed.  “I can’t be hypnotized,” she reminded him again.</p><p>But she didn’t notice that her voice was smaller, lacking power.  She couldn’t tell that her eyes were locked upon his, unable to look away.  She was unaware that her fists were unclenching and her arms were becoming limp at her sides.</p><p>“I can’t… be hypnotized,” she said.</p><p>“Look <strong><em>deeper</em></strong>,” Rasputin’s eyes commanded her.</p><p>Those eyes were powerful, the Italian woman had to admit.  Were they brown, with a tint of blue?  Or blue with a tint of hazel?  It was impossible to tell.  And yet, the eyes were growing larger and larger, filling her vision.</p><p>“…<strong><em>deeper</em></strong>…” the eyes insisted.</p><p>Chiara lost track of the villains standing about her.  The rough hands that held her in place were still there, but her mind forgot about them.  The Russian’s eyes expanded and swam about in colorful circles and seemed to be folding space and time.  Nothing made sense.  The young woman felt both weightless and extremely heavy.  Her emotions were tumbling into a strange sleep.</p><p>“I… can’t… can’t… be… hyp…” she whispered, then allowed her voice to trail off.</p><p>“Yesss…” the Russian said, his voice now deep within her mind.  “Yes, you look deeply, and you obey.  You will obey me, girl, and you will always obey.  Say it!”</p><p>Within Chiara’s mind, a new thought emerged, whispering over and over:  YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY…</p><p>“I… will obey…” Chiara repeated.</p><p>“Again!”</p><p>YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY</p><p>“I will obey,” she replied.</p><p>For now, Chiara had lost track of where she was, who she was, and what was happening.  The strange eyes dominated her, stealing away her thoughts.  She felt as if she were somehow suspended in midair, without passions or a care in the world.</p><p>The voice in her mind chuckled.  “Very good,” it said.  “You are now my slave.  Say it.”</p><p>YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY</p><p>“I am your slave,” the young woman robotically repeated.</p><p>“Again!”</p><p>YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY</p><p>“I am your slave…  Master.”</p><p>Chiara could dimly hear the cheers and cackles of the other Ninth Levelers as these last words escaped from her lips.  But she had spoken the truth.  The Voice and Eyes had put a spell on her, and she was now a slave.  She wanted nothing but to obey her master.</p><p>*********</p><p>“Now,” Chiara heard Marylyn Monroe’s harsh voice command, “make her tell us <strong><em>everything</em></strong>.  What do the angels know?”</p><p>Soon, the hypnotized Italian was freely telling every part of her story to the Ninth Levelers.  They growled and hissed when she described Michael and Barachiel, and they grew especially angry when Chiara told them that the Helltrackers would be arriving soon.</p><p>“Filthy Angel swine!” cursed Marylyn.  “<strong><em>When</em></strong> and <strong><em>how</em></strong> will they be arriving?”</p><p>“Soon,” Chiara reported, still staring blankly into Rasputin’s gaze.  “They are arriving by helicopter.  Perhaps within the hour.”</p><p>Hells’ Escapees howled in sheer rage.</p><p>“<strong><em>SILENCE!!!</em></strong>” roared Marylyn.</p><p>Instantly the room was perfectly quiet.</p><p>Chiara dimly heard the blonde movie star grunt as she thought.  “Tell me, Vera,” she snarled, “can we get to the roof?”</p><p>The voice of Vera Renczi responded: “Of course, lord.  There’s a ladder up to the roof that used to be a part of the fire escape system.”</p><p>“Good,” harrumphed Marylyn.  “Rommel, get Tutankhamun and Liberace and then bring the rocket launchers.  Raspy, bring our newest slave girl.  Then you guys all follow me.”</p><p>*********</p><p>The climb up to the roof was treacherous, but the little party of the damned plus the entranced Chiara made it in one piece.  The mesmerized Italian woman found herself standing under the inky black sky, a thousand starts twinkling down upon her.</p><p>“Keep your eyes peeled,” Marylyn growled, scanning the horizon.  “Anyone see them?”</p><p>All her minions looked about.  They could see small commuter aircraft dancing in the far distance, but nothing that was obviously an approaching helicopter.</p><p>“Make her signal the Filthy Ones,” Marylyn ordered Rasputin.</p><p>The mad hypnotist turned his powerful eyes back onto Chiara.  “You will signal your celestial friends,” he commanded, “and help us lure the Helltrackers into a trap.  Do not alert them.”</p><p>YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY</p><p>“Yes, master,” Chiara obediently responded.</p><p>Her drugged mind struggled to obey.  What was she to do?   …oh, yes.  She knew.</p><p>Chiara closed her eyes, clasping her hands together.  “Michael and Barachiel above us, hear me now,” she murmured, and then began an old Latin chant she remembered from grade school.</p><p>The Ninth Levelers hissed and recoiled at these holy words, but Chiara continued to carry out her instructions.</p><p>“Michael and Barachiel,” she murmured, “hear me.  The Wicked Ones are all in the <em>Ballare Sul Porto</em> nightclub.  On Meyerbeer St.  Off the harbor.”</p><p><em>Nice!  Well done, Chiara!</em> Michael’s relieved voice sounded in her head.  <em>Good going!</em></p><p><em>Way to rock, girlfriend,</em> Bara chimed in.  <em>Now get out of there!  Get far away!  The ‘trackers will strike within the minute.  Bless you!</em></p><p>At the same time, Rommel suddenly cried, “There!”</p><p>The Damned looked up as he pointed.  High above them, three tiny lights were flying in close formation.  Helicopters.  As one, they banked, swooping down towards the city.</p><p>“Ah!” Marylyn gloated.  “Perfect!  Stand ready!”</p><p>The villains swarmed over the big cases that had been lugged up with them.  Within seconds, all the men were pointing horrid-looking rocket launchers into the sky.</p><p>“These had better work as you described, or I’ll flay you alive,” Rasputin growled at Rommel.</p><p>“<strong><em>SHUT UP!</em></strong>” screamed Marylyn.  Her cold eyes were locked on the approaching copters.  The aircraft were swooping in fast.</p><p>Chiara, still in a powerful trance, could only stare straight ahead.  Her clouded mind felt only the slightest panic at what was about to happen.</p><p>“And…” Marylyn said, “…<strong><em>FIRE!</em></strong>”</p><p>All rocket launchers bellowed at the same time.  The explosion was deafening, and Chiara was nearly knocked off her feet.  Beneath her, the <em>Ballare</em> trembled.</p><p>Tendrils of fire raced across the night sky, zooming toward the distant aircraft…</p><p>…and then, in a terrible roar, they struck their targets.  Three brilliant flowers of bright orange flames burst across the night sky.</p><p>“Direct hit, all three!” shouted Rommel in triumph.</p><p>“Wait!” Marylyn hissed.  The blonde actress turned to glare at Rasputin.  “Force the Italian slut to contact the Angels.”</p><p>Rasputin commanded Chiara, and the hypnotized young woman found herself praying once again.</p><p><em>What happened, girl?</em> Bara’s voice cried in Chiara’s head.  The angel sounded horrified.  <em>The Helltrackers… they’re all dead!  What happened?!?</em></p><p><em>Did you betray us?</em> Michael accused.</p><p>Chiara broke off her prayer instantly.  “The Angels say:  The Helltrackers are dead,” she said woodenly.</p><p>“Dead?” Marylyn gloated.  “<strong><em>DEAD???</em></strong>”</p><p>And at this, her fellow Ninth Levelers cheered, leaping up and down.  Their wicked voices crackled in the cool night air.</p><p>The evilest laugh of all was Marylyn’s.  The blonde actress shook her fists at the sky, screaming, “<strong><em>You see that, Wrenched Angels?  You Holy Fools!  This is our day!  Our day!</em></strong>”</p><p>Her face shining, she turned to her followers.  “<strong><em>THE EARTH</em></strong>,” she crowed, “<strong><em>IS OURS!!!</em></strong>”</p><p>*********</p><p>The rest of the Ninth Levelers were positively giddy at the news.  They’d seen the helicopters explode, of course, but didn’t dare hope for total victory.  Only when Marylyn and the others returned from the roof and delivered the news did they truly allow themselves to rejoice.</p><p>“The Helltrackers are <strong><em>dead?!?</em></strong>” squealed Idi Amin Dada in wicked delight.</p><p>The Ninth Levelers burst in unrestrained dancing, led by Michael Jackson, who whooped in joy and started moonwalking like crazy.  Even Rasputin, who looked like he had never heard music in his life, started jumping about in a Russian jig.</p><p>Chiara stood beside her master, still in a powerful trance.  The young woman stared blankly ahead, ignoring the commotion all about her.</p><p>YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY</p><p>“There’s no Helltrackers to stop us!” cried David "Son of Sam" Berkowitz.  He snatched up a gasoline can.  “I’m burning down the whole fucking world, <strong><em>starting with Naples!</em></strong>  Yeah, baby-“</p><p>“<strong><em>STOP, MOTHERFUCKER!</em></strong>” screamed Marylyn.</p><p>Instantly, all merrymaking ground to a halt.  The Damned cringed before the wrath of their leader.</p><p>“<strong><em>No one,</em></strong>” Marylyn roared, “<strong><em>goes anywhere.  Not until I give the order.  Understand?</em></strong>”</p><p>“But…” mumbled Charles Ponzi.</p><p>Without hesitation, Marylyn leapt across the crowd, her hands blazing with fire.  In seconds, poor Mr. Ponzi was burnt to a brimstone-smelling crisp.</p><p>“<strong><em>ANYONE ELSE HAVE OBJECTIONS?</em></strong>” Marylyn demanded, her eyes blazing.</p><p>Suddenly the rest of the Ninth Levelers were quite aggregable.</p><p>“You stupid fools,” their Overlord seethed.  “How we gonna take over the Earth if we ain’t organized?  If we don’t have a plan for what’s next?  <strong><em>Eh?</em></strong>”</p><p>No-one argued this point.</p><p>Marylyn exhaled, suddenly looking weary.  “Everyone remains here,” she commanded.  “I have to think for a bit.”</p><p>And without a glance back, the blonde stalked away from the dancefloor.  Behind the bar, there was a small suite of offices.  Marylyn selected the biggest, then disappeared inside.  Everyone jumped as she slammed the door.</p><p>*********</p><p>The Ninth Levelers paused, uncertain if their leader had truly retired.  An uneasy silence hung over the air.</p><p>But when the terrifying blonde didn’t reemerge, a relived air seemed to creep back into the Damned.</p><p>“<strong><em>No more Helltrackers!</em></strong>” Benedict Arnold suddenly shouted, unable to contain his glee.</p><p>And then the merrymaking was turned back on, as if a switch had been flipped.  The Condemned Ones cried out and danced even harder than before.</p><p>Standing off to one side was Chiara, still deeply entranced.  The young woman’s face was completely blank.  Her mind was filled only with YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY.  She observed the Wicked Ones as they partied on, yet did not have the slightest reaction to their debauchery.</p><p>But the Condemned certainly noticed her.</p><p>“Hey, there, baby,” Che Guevara leered, coming to hover over the Italian woman.  “How’s about you spend a little time with me?  Its been a looooong time since I was with a woman.”</p><p>Alarmed, Henry Ford rushed over.  “No way, dude!” he snapped.  “I was in Hell longer; I have greater needs.  She should get it on <strong><em>with me</em></strong>.”</p><p>“Fuck that!” interrupted Charles Cullen.  “This bitch should be mine!”</p><p>A fight was seconds from breaking out.</p><p>At the last moment, Rasputin realized the danger.  “Hey there, hey there!” the Russian cried, hurrying to stand before the hypnotized Chiara.  “Get outta here, you guys!  This chick’s mine!”</p><p>But this argument impressed no-one.  “Goddamn it, Raspy,” Cullen snarled.  “Its not fair!  You’re the only one with hypnosis powers; you could get any woman!”  Pointing at Chiara, he demanded, ”Let us have this one!”</p><p>Rasputin hesitated.  His greedy eyes swept over the beautiful Italian, appreciating both her lovely face and wonderous body.  After decades in Hell, she was almost too luscious to be believed.</p><p>“I… no, I have to keep this one,” the Russian insisted, placing a protective hand on Chiara’s shoulder.</p><p>His fellow Ninth Levelers hissed with disapproval.  “<strong><em>The fuck</em></strong>, man?” wailed Heinrich Himmler.</p><p>“At least give us something,” Ferdinand Marcos grumbled.  “So what about those ladies from the nightclub that you hypnotized?”</p><p>The former Filipino dictator gestured.  All the young women in party dresses were standing off to one side, all of them still in hypnotic trances.</p><p>“We could fuck those girls,” Marcos said, licking his lips.</p><p>Arguments and fights began to break out among the male Ninth Levelers, debating who would deflower which victim.</p><p>But Eva Perón happened to be dancing nearly, flirting with Alexander the Great.  “Are you assholes <strong><em>completely fucking bonkers</em></strong>?” she cried in rage.  “You want to start an orgy, here?  What do you think is gonna happen when the Overlord discovers you?”</p><p>The male Ninth Levelers froze, considering her words.</p><p>“Marylyn’s gonna have a cow when she sees you fucking those innocent women, that’s what!” Eva ranted.  “And then, she’s gonna-“</p><p>The men put up their hands, not wanting to hear any more.</p><p>“Stupid shitheads,” Eva scoffed.  She returned to the larger party, laughing cruelly as she danced.</p><p>Chiara observed all of this though the stifling cloud of her hypnosis.  In her mind, Rasputin was her master, and she wanted nothing but to serve him.  And she could see the other men were eyeing the Russian with deep-seated resentment.</p><p>“Master?” she said softly.</p><p>Rasputin, surprised, turned to look at her.</p><p>YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY</p><p>“I have a suggestion,” Chiara told him.</p><p>*********</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Climax and then Escape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Under Rasputin’s mental control, the hypnotized young women – Chiara included – marched up onto the nightclub stage.  Not one of them could resist his control.</p><p>Once the ladies were standing before the great plate glass windows, Rasputin stood before them, raising his arms.  “And now,” the hypnotist commanded, “you will dance!  You will dance, removing your clothes as you do!  Make it sexy!”</p><p>He clapped his hands, once.</p><p>Somewhere in the back of the club, the rock music began throbbing over the loudspeakers.  The young ladies began swaying, shaking their hips and shoulders.  Each of them closed their eyes, adopting looks of rapture.  Their slender hands rose up, beginning to unbutton blouses or lift shirts over their heads.</p><p>The Evil Ones had shoved a row of metal trash cans against the stage, and each can contained a blazing fire.  That hellish orange light now flickered and glowed, illuminating the young women as well as any spotlight.</p><p>And so, as the entranced women danced, the Ninth Level men could see them perfectly.  They roared with approval.  The mood inside the <em>Ballare</em> became lustful.</p><p>And yet, although the room was packed with rapists, misogynists, slavers, sadists, and much, much worse, not a single male made a move on the dancing young ladies.  Eva Perón had been right; their fear of Marylyn Monroe held them in check.  So… for now… the villains contented themselves to admire those svelte young bodies, but not touch one of them.</p><p>Except for Rasputin.  At first, the Russian simply stood back, admiring his handiwork.  But as the hypnotized women danced, he found that his lecherous eye kept wandering back to Chiara.</p><p>Oh, she was up there, shaking her booty with all the other young women.  Perhaps more deeply mesmerized than any of the other women, Chiara moved as if she’d been a professional stripper for years.  Her curvy body was full of fluid motion, swaying and bobbing in perfect time with the music.  As she peeled out of her shoes, her dress, and then her bra, Rasputin found that he was the one who could not free his gaze from her.  There she was, dancing away, wearing only the tiniest panties he’d ever seen.</p><p>Suddenly, it was too much for him to take.</p><p>“You!” he cried, catching Chiara’s surprised glance.</p><p>With one gesture, he commanded the young woman to descend the stage and come to him.  Chiara obeyed.  Once she was off the stage, Rasputin grabbed her by the hand and hauled her toward the offices behind the bar.  He ignored the jealous glares of his fellow Damned.</p><p>*********</p><p>Being careful not to intrude in Marylyn Monroe’s chamber, Rasputin selected a smaller office and stockroom further away from the dancefloor.  This little room had been ransacked years ago, leaving only a large, long desk and bare storage shelves against the far wall.  One electric light bulb hanging from the ceiling struggled to maintain the dim illumination.  Trash and old papers were littered everywhere.</p><p>Rasputin ushered Chiara in, still in wonder of her trim but ample little body.  He quickly shut the door.</p><p>When he was alive and secretly ruling Czar Nicholas II’s palace, Rasputin had of course hypnotized and seduced many young, pretty women.  Those poor ladies had shed their clothes, spread their legs, and squealed with delight when he entered them.  And he could still remember each one of them, especially their naked breasts, their smooth, silky skin, and the look of sublimation on their faces when they climaxed.</p><p>But then Rasputin had been killed and sentenced to the Ninth Level.  In Hell, sexual lust is heightened, but there is no opportunity to actually get laid.  The Damned find that they are constantly horny, but never able to satisfy their lusts.  It is torment that drives many to the brink of insanity.  Rasputin was no exception.</p><p>And now, with the desirous Chiara before him?  Ohhh…  Here the Italian woman was, her almost-naked body shining in the poor light.  The Russian lusted for her perfect, fully-rounded breasts, her slim stomach, her curved hips, her firm rear, and those long, long legs.  And her beauty!  Exceptional.</p><p>“Look into my eyes,” the hypnotist demanded.</p><p>YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY</p><p>Chiara did as she was commanded, instantly swallowed up in Rasputin’s power.</p><p>“When I touch your body,” Rasputin commanded her, “you are overcome with desire.  You <strong><em>must</em></strong> fuck me and fuck me harder than any man you’ve ever had before.”</p><p>YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY</p><p>“Yes, Master,” Chiara said mindlessly.</p><p>And then, he was on her.  Rasputin seized Chiara by the arms, pulling her toward him and kissing her roughly.  He swooned as he felt her breasts and hips press against him.</p><p>But the hypnotist was unprepared for what happened next.  Suddenly, Chiara’s hands we upon him, tearing at his clothes.  The Italian woman was incensed, kissing him with a passion that was almost scary.  Rasputin gasped as their teeth clinked together.</p><p>His peasant’s shirt was torn wide open.  Chiara shoved the cheap fabric back, exposing his skinny body from the waist up.  She pulled him closer, then her hands dropped downward to wrestle with his belt.</p><p>Chiara was so aggressive, Rasputin found himself slowly backing up under her assault.  Suddenly, he bumped into the desk, and was surprised to find that he’d been pushed back so far.</p><p>The hypnotized Italian woman grinned, removing the belt.  With her left hand, she pulled Rasputin’s face toward her, deepening their kiss.  With her right hand, she somehow opened his button fly and then started massaging his cock.  He was rigid.</p><p>The two kissed and fondled one another for a few minutes.  It was as if in the thick of their lust, they simply couldn’t decide what part of their lover’s body upon which they wanted to focus.  Rasputin was delighted to feel Chiara’s soft breasts in his hands, delighted to feel her nipples expand and poke him gently as he played with her.</p><p>Suddenly Chiara snorted.  “I have to fuck you, Master,” she moaned.  “I have to fuck you.”</p><p>The young woman shoved the assorted papers and garbage off the top of the desk, then climbed onto its dirty surface.  She cared not one whit for the dust or soft crud that was scattered everywhere.  Her lust-driven mind only wanted one thing at that point.</p><p>Making sure Rasputin had a good view, the Italian woman stood on her knees, sliding her panties off her rear and hips.  Then, twisting about, she sat and pushed her underwear past her toes.  The tiny white garment fluttered to the floor.</p><p>“Do you want me, Master?” the naked Chiara asked, her voice low.  She reclined onto her back, spread her legs, and then dipped two fingers into her vagina.  Slooooowly.  Just to make sure the Russian got the message.</p><p>Rasputin stared at her, floored.  Not one of the women he’d taken in Nicholas II’s court had <strong><em>ever</em></strong> behaved like this.  Was Chiara a sex goddess?  Or did all women of this era behave in such a direct manner?  The hypnotist reeled.</p><p>And then he couldn’t contain himself.  With furious determination, he yanked his feet from his boots, then cast his britches to the floor.  Fully nude, he climbed atop the desk, scrambling to mount his female conquest.</p><p>But she was ready for him.  “Lie back, Master,” Chiara whispered, rising up and gently guiding Rasputin by the shoulders.</p><p>The Russian allowed himself to be flipped around, and then he lay down on his back.  He stared up at Chiara, unable to believe how sexy she was in this moment.  In the weak electric light, he thought her nude body positively glowed in the darkness.</p><p>With supreme confidence, the Italian woman straddled Rasputin’s hips, inserted his tip into her wetness, and then lowered herself down onto him.</p><p>The Russian felt his erect penis light up.  The sensation was a tidal wave of pleasure, stroking his member and rolling throughout his entire body.</p><p>Overcome, he almost cried in his happiness.  Oh, it had been so long!  So long!  After a century of living in Hell, he’d <strong><em>completely</em></strong> forgotten what a woman’s soft, wet vagina felt like.</p><p>Above him, Chiara flexed her knees and began fucking.  Obeying her hypnotic programming, she engaged her legs, propelling her curvy body up and down, up and down, up and down.  She felt her breasts bouncing freely, and the sensation excited her.  Her breathing became ragged and deep, and tiny beads of sweat began popping up on her back and forehead.</p><p>Beneath her thighs, Rasputin was losing track of his senses.  Swept away by the power of her vagina, he watched her nude breasts bounce, completely mesmerizing him.  Chiara had him pinned, and he loved it.  He loved every moment of it!</p><p>In the back of his mind, the Russian idly wondered: had he ever fucked a woman in this position before?  Perhaps a beautiful young village wench he had bedazzled while on the road?  Or one of the Czarina’s ladies-in-waiting?  He didn’t think so.  While he loved the roiling pleasure emanating from his cock, Rasputin didn’t think that he’d ever submit to a position where he couldn’t move.</p><p>No matter!  Chiara bounced higher, arching her back and giving off small, whimpering cries of ecstasy.</p><p>“<strong><em>Oh… Master…</em></strong>” she mumbled, “<strong><em>I… love… your… cock…!</em></strong>”</p><p>That was it.  Rasputin couldn’t resist her any longer.  He grunted as his penis burst into full orgasm.</p><p>And the <strong><em>force</em></strong> of this orgasm!  The Russian monk wasn’t prepared in the slightest.  When he was alive, he’d fucked beautiful girls <strong><em>at least</em></strong> three times a week.  Now, after over a hundred years without a single orgasm, he couldn’t believe how <strong><em>WONDERFUL</em></strong> his cock felt.</p><p>Rasputin’s body violently shook.  In one great spasm, his back and legs tensed, actually throwing Chiara off of him, and onto the floor.  The Russian was so overcome, he came straight into the cold air.  He lost control of his own muscles, and his arms and legs desperately flailed as if they were trying to escape his body.  After being denied sex for so long, his body literally couldn’t handle Chiara’s overstimulation.</p><p>In one violent motion, Rasputin’s head jerked back, slamming his skull against the hard desk.  His eyes went crossways.  And then – quite to his surprise – he dropped into unconsciousness.</p><p>*********</p><p>Meanwhile, the nude Chiara found herself sprawled across the dirty floor.  There was an unpleasant ringing within her skull.  Her arms, legs, and backside hurt.</p><p>“<em>Unnnnnngh…!</em>” she groaned, taking a moment to absorb the pain.</p><p>Her thoughts swam.  YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY YOU WILL OBEY was fading, leaving her with…  with…</p><p>Chiara shook her head, violently.</p><p>Her thoughts were her own again.</p><p>It was like abruptly waking from a dream that had been both wonderful and sickening at the same time.  She dimly remembered being in Rasputin’s power, wanting only to obey his every wish.  Her mindless obedience had made her so happy.  But now…?</p><p>Now, thinking of how completely she’d been controlled, Chiara only wanted to throw up.</p><p>Angry and wincing, the naked woman climbed to her feet.  Her former master lay on the desk, twisted into a grotesque shape.  As she watched, his slimy penis lost its shape, retracting and becoming small and floppy once more.  His stomach was splattered with his own semen.</p><p>Chiara nearly vomited again.  <em>At least the fucking creep didn’t ejaculate inside me,</em> she thought sourly.  The thought of becoming pregnant with Rasputin Junior didn’t appeal in the slightest.</p><p>But what to do?  The evil mastermind was down, but his body was slowly stirring.  Wordless mumbles rolled from his lips.  He would be awake, and soon.  Chiara might have a minute.  Maybe less.  She had to move fast.</p><p>Unfortunately, the only item of her clothing she could find were her panties, carelessly tossed into a corner.  She hurriedly put them on.</p><p>The only other garments she could locate were Rasputin’s own ratty trousers, torn shirt, and boots.  The boots stank something foul.  But given the choice of wearing the Russian’s dirty hand-me-downs or nothing at all, Chiara angrily swallowed her pride and made the practical choice.  She yanked on the pants, then shirt, then did her best to tie up the boots.</p><p>*********</p><p>The Italian woman cautiously poked her head out of the office.</p><p>On the main dancefloor, the Ninth Levelers were still partying away.  If anything, they were drunker and more carefree than ever.  The Condemned seemed to have forgotten everything except their unrestrained euphoria.</p><p>And up on the raised stage, the hypnotized young women were still dancing, still controlled by their hypnotic programming.  At this point, all of them were topless, and most of them were completely in the buff.  They danced on, without the slightest inkling of what they were doing or with whom they were doing it for.</p><p>Worried, Chiara did a quick headcount.  There were eighty women on the stage, the exact number that had come up the elevator.  Amazing.  Not one of the entranced ladies had been touched by a Ninth Leveler.  While the male villains were clearly a horny and ruthless bunch, their fear of Marylyn Monroe was greater than their libidos.</p><p>Speaking of the blonde actress…</p><p>Chiara looked about.  Marylyn was still nowhere to be seen.  Perhaps she was asleep?</p><p>Behind her in the little office, Chiara heard Rasputin groan, loudly.  She whirled around.  The Russian hypnotist was sitting up on the desk, clutching his head.</p><p><em>Shit!</em> the Italian woman thought.  She was out of time.</p><p>In a flash, Chiara snatched up a dirty brick that was lying in the corner.  She smashed the brick into the inner doorknob, cleaving the knob off completely.</p><p>“Hey!” Rasputin cried.</p><p>Ignoring him, Chiara darted outside, pulling the door completely shut behind her.  The bolt clicked.  Rasputin was trapped inside.</p><p>*********</p><p>Tossing aside her brick, Chiara pulled Rasputin’s oversized clothes closer to her frame and hurried along the edge of the nightclub’s floor.  She kept her head down, but not one of the inebriated Ninth Levelers glanced her way.</p><p>The young woman considered her limited options.  She had to escape, <strong><em>obviously</em></strong>, and before someone realized that she’d snapped free of Rasputin’s hypnosis.</p><p>The elevator to the ground floor was across the warehouse.  Right now, it was guarded by John Gotti and William the Conqueror… but those two guys looked pretty smashed at the moment.  And Gotti was hopelessly distracted by the bare, swaying tush of one of the hypnotized young women.</p><p>It wouldn’t be too hard, Chiara mused, to smash a discarded bottle into the heads of the two men and then escape down the elevator.  Given how wild the party had become, it was likely that not one of the Ninth Levelers would notice.</p><p>Then, once she was out on the street, Chiara could make a quick prayer to her Angel friends and alert them to the location of the Evil Ones, and…</p><p>And then what?  The Helltrackers were dead.  The angels were forbidden to come to Earth.</p><p>Marylyn was right; the Ninth Levelers were in the clear.</p><p>*********</p><p>As these troubled thoughts tumbled through Chiara’s mind, she passed near Sun Tzu and Robert Mugabe, both standing and marveling at the nude, hypnotized women.</p><p>“Ahhhh, bro…” Sun Tzu exclaimed.  “I can’t stand it no more.  I’ll have that one.”  He pointed to a skinny young woman with a graceful, dancer’s body.</p><p>“Her tits are too small,” complained Mugabe.</p><p>“That’s how I likes ‘em,” Sun Tzu retorted.</p><p>“Marylyn will flay you alive,” Mugabe said nervously, looking about.</p><p>But the Chinese warlord scoffed.  “Lemme tell you what’s gonna happen, bro.  See Bonny and Clyde, dancing away over there?  Those two bitches are Marylyn’s biggest tattletales.  Well, in about five minutes, they’re gonna drink themselves into a stupor.  The moment they’re out, that’s it!  I’m grabbing her –“ here he indicated his favored hypnotized woman “- and I’m taking her for myself.  Ain’t no-one gonna stop me.”</p><p>“You’re nuts,” Mugabe told him.</p><p>Sun Tzu rolled his eyes.  “And you’re an idiot, bro,” he snapped back.  “You know what’s gonna happen the moment I bust a move?”</p><p>“Yeah,” said Mugabe.  “About ten of our fellow Ninth Levelers will report you to Marylyn.  You’ll be roasted up on the spot and find yourself back in Hell.”</p><p>“No, no, no,” sneered the warlord.  “No, bro.  Look around you.  This room is filled with horny men who haven’t fucked in <strong><em>ages</em></strong>.  No, the moment I take my prize, they’re all gonna realize that if they rush the stage, they can get a girl, too.  And there’s only eighty ladies; thousands of men.  Not a good ratio, eh?  No, the moment I take my girl, there’ll be a mad rush to snatch up every last bitch up there.”</p><p>Looking cocky, Sun Tzu added, ”And Marylyn can’t fry all of us, can she?  No.  She needs us in her take-over-the-world scheme, whatever that will be.  So, while the getting’s good…”  He grinned wickedly.  “…I’m getting <strong><em>mine</em></strong>.”</p><p>*********</p><p>As she listened, Chiara felt her stomach churn.  The entranced young women were about to suffer a horrible, horrible fate.  Hypnotized and then raped by the worst of Hell?  Chiara wouldn’t wish that upon her worst enemy.</p><p>Suddenly, Chiara couldn’t leave.  She just couldn’t.</p><p>But what could be done?</p><p>Across the room, Bonny and Clyde, each guzzling whiskey from the bottle, were swaying on their feet.  Suddenly, Clyde dropped his bottle, his expression absolutely stunned.  He belched loudly, then toppled over, passed out.  The other Ninth Levelers cackled and danced over him.</p><p>Bonny smirked, then resumed drinking.  She was having a hard time focusing her eyes.  Within seconds, she’d be unconscious, too.</p><p>“Goddamnit,” Chiara muttered to herself in despair.  If she was going to do anything, now was the time.</p><p>*********</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Last Helltracker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chiara pushed her way towards the stage, her mind desperately racing.  A drunken Hunter S. Thompson staggered before her, and the young Italian woman was forced to push him aside.</p><p>“’Ay, toots,” snarled Joseph Stalin, “watch it!”</p><p>“Who d’you thunk yer are, uh?” slurred a <strong><em>very</em></strong> drunk Ludwig van Beethoven.</p><p>But not all the Condemned were fooled.  “Hey!” squealed Shirley Temple, suddenly bristling with indignation.  She stabbed an accusing finger at Chiara.  “Hey!  Its her!  <strong><em>Its that Angel spy!</em></strong>”</p><p>At these words, the Ninth Levelers gasped in rage, whirling on Chiara.  In an instant, the young Italian knew her disguise was useless.</p><p>The Ninth Levelers bellowed in rage, and murderous hands grabbed Chiara from all sides.  She gasped as they struggled to pull her body limb-from-limb.</p><p>A desperate idea lit into the young woman’s brain.  With nothing left to lose, she arched her neck and sang:  “<em>AMAAAAAZING GRACE…!</em>”</p><p>Instantly, the throng of the Damned howled, recoiling back as if they’d been scalded by boiling water.  The villains writhed and cursed, their blazing eyes brimming with sheer hate.  The holy words repelled them as if their very sound was toxic.</p><p>Although she was heaving for breath, Chiara didn’t dare stop singing:</p><p>     <em>AMAZING GRACE</em></p><p>
  <em>     HOW SWEET THE SOUND</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     THAT SAVED A WRETCH LIKE ME…!</em>
</p><p>The Italian was not much of a singer.  But it didn’t matter; she could carry the tune and she knew the lyrics.  She backed up against the stage, belting out the simple melody as loudly as she could.</p><p>The Condemned, now forgetting their party entirely, formed a wide semi-circle around the young woman, hissing and screaming at her.  Many of them were stooping to pick up bricks or garbage that they found at their feet.</p><p>“Someone get Marylyn!” Augusto Pinochet shouted, a call that was taken up by many others.</p><p>Inside her mind, Chiara swore.  She was about to be ripped apart by the mob, she was certain of only that much.  Her singing would only hold them back for so long; then what?</p><p><em>Fuck it</em>, she thought in defiance.</p><p>Beside her, one of the great garbage cans against the stage was burning away.  Chiara grabbed it by the rim, forcing herself to ignore the searing hot metal under her fingers.  With all her strength, she hauled the can off its base, tipping it over.</p><p>Flaming garbage spilled out across the floor, scattering the Ninth Levelers in all directions.  To Chiara’s amazement, the heavy metal can barreled across the floor, smashing into a second can.  That can toppled over as well.</p><p>A flicker of hope seized the young woman.  She leapt to a third can, shoving it over with all her might.</p><p>Now fires were spreading across the dance floor, creating an improvised inferno.  The metal trash cans we clanking into one another, toppling to the ground in all directions.</p><p>The Ninth Levelers yowled, stampeding to stay out of the way.  Everyone hurried to save themselves; no-one paid any mind to their companions.  A few of the slower folk, like Aristotle and John Dillinger, were trampled in the confusion.</p><p>Chiara lost no time.  She sprang up onto the stage.</p><p>The young women stared at her and their surroundings in pure horror.  The loud clanging had jolted them out of their trances, and now the poor creatures found themselves in the worst circumstances imaginable.</p><p>“Listen to me!” Chiara shouted at them, straining to be heard above the din.</p><p>The women shrank back in fear.  They covered their nude bodies with their hands and looked about, desperate for an escape.</p><p>Chiara glanced back into the nightclub.  The Ninth Levelers were rushing around the fires, making their way toward her, all of them with vengeance in their wicked eyes.  At best, she had a minute.</p><p>There was no time to explain anything to the girls.  Ignoring their cries and confused questions, Chiara snatched up a discarded broom that leaned against the wall.  Then, screaming like a madwoman, she attacked the bay windows that lined the back of the stage.  The glass shattered, raining down into the inky black harbor below.</p><p>There was now a huge gap in the windows.  The cold sea air could be felt whisking into the club.</p><p>“<strong><em>Jump!</em></strong>” Chiara hollered at the women, pointing at the opening.  “<strong><em>Go, go, go!</em></strong>  <strong><em>HURRY!</em></strong>”</p><p>The young women took one look at the vicious Ninth Levelers, swarming up to the stage, and then the fires consuming the club.  While leaping out that window had little appeal, it was certainly better than staying put.</p><p>In a frantic stampede, the nude women bolted across the stage, leaping though the broken windows.  Most screamed all the way down.  Then Chiara could hear the girls splashing about in the water, far below.</p><p>By now, a handful of Ninth Levelers had reached the stage.  Led by Hammurabi, Leif Erikson the Viking, and Spiro T. Agnew, they climbed up, their fingers itching to tear Chiara apart.</p><p>And at that moment, the doors of the main office banged open, far away from the stage.  Marylyn Monroe emerged, her face a mask of livid hatred.  Even from across the club, Chiara cringed at the burn of her glare.</p><p>The blonde actress stabbed a finger at Chiara, and screeched, “<strong><em>KILL HER!!!</em></strong>”</p><p>Now the Ninth Levelers threw aside any concern for their own safety.  They surged forward, leaping over the flames, all howling for Chiara’s blood.</p><p>The Italian woman felt a stab of panic.  There were still perhaps a dozen young women who had yet to escape through the windows.  As badly as she wanted to flee herself, Chiara couldn’t let even one of the girls be recaptured by the Evil Ones.</p><p>The broom was still in her hand.  Chiara swung it like a sledgehammer, knowing full well that her weapon was pitiful.  But the cry of battle that escaped her lips and the sheer ferocity that lit her face made the first wave of villains pause.</p><p>“<strong><em>KILL HER!!!</em></strong>” Marylyn demanded again.</p><p>As Chiara whirled her broom about, the bristles passed through the flames and caught fire.  The Italian woman, adrenaline coursing through her every vein, didn’t notice.</p><p>In the corner of her eye, she saw: the last of the young woman leapt through the glass!  They were safe!</p><p>But then, Hammurabi, who was surprisingly large, sprang forward, seeking to tackle Chiara to the ground.</p><p>The Italian woman threw herself to the stage floor, barely evading Hammurabi’s grasp.  Now on her hands and knees, it was easy to swing her leg about, neatly kicking the ancient general’s legs out from under him.  Hammurabi cried out in pain and surprise as the toppled over.</p><p>But now the Ninth Levelers were upon poor Chiara.  Furious, Charles VI of France and Boss Tweed clutched at her arms.  Francois Duvalier and Vincent van Gogh grabbed her midriff, seeking to push her to the floor.  And Iwane Matsui, Anne Bonny, and Cecil B. DeMille were all madly stomping at her hands, seeking to break her fingers.</p><p>Chiara screamed aloud as the psychopaths sought to smash her body.</p><p>And then… by a miracle, or by the worst luck possible…  The fires dropped down to the ground floor.  A flaming timber crashed into the ancient building’s boiler.</p><p>The <em>Ballare Sul Porto</em> began to explode.</p><p>*********</p><p>Up on the stage, Chiara felt the floorboards beneath her shake.  There was a dull roaring, and then an intense heat.</p><p>The Condemned Ones cried out in terror.  Instantly, Chiara was released.</p><p>Knowing the <em>Ballare</em> and how poorly it was constructed, the Italian woman knew <strong><em>exactly</em></strong> what had just happened.  She also knew that the ancient, gas-powered furnace hadn’t exploded yet, but it would within seconds.  The boiler and furnace were only a few meters apart.</p><p>As the Ninth Levelers staggered about in confusion, Chiara fought her way to her feet, then sprinted for the broken windows.</p><p>“Hey!” cried Nikita Khrushchev, “stop her…!”</p><p>It was too late for him.  Dashing at top speed, Chiara dove through the window arms-first.</p><p>A split second later, the <em>Ballare</em>’s furnace ignited.  The entire building was blasted to rubble.  The explosion rocked Naples, setting off fire alarms over a kilometer away.</p><p>*********</p><p>Chiara gasped, her body tense.</p><p>She felt nothing.  Curious, and with her heart pounding furiously, she cracked open one eye.</p><p>All she saw was white; simple, pure white.</p><p>The young woman forced a slow exhale, then opened her eyes fully and stood up.  Once again… she was in Heaven.</p><p>“Well done,” a relieved male voice said beside her.</p><p>Chiara turned, and there was Michael and Bara, once again dressed in the plain white clothes they’d worn earlier.  Both angels looked relaxed, and had grateful smiles on their faces.</p><p>“Wha…?” Chiara said, still collecting her wits.</p><p>“Relax, you’re safe now,” Bara assured her.</p><p>The Italian woman breathed out once more.  “Those young women,” she asked, “did they…?”</p><p>“They all escaped,” beamed the female angel.  “Every last one of them.”</p><p>“They’re being fished out of water by the Naples Harbor Patrol, right now,” Michael said.  “They had a heckuva fright, poor things.  But they’ll be okay.”</p><p>“I’ll look after them,” Bara promised.</p><p>Chiara nodded.  “And… the Ninth Levelers?”</p><p>“Blasted back to Hell,” confirmed Michael.  “I’d imagine the demons are going through quite the disciplinary review right now.”</p><p>“And paperwork,” Bara added.  “I hear that Hell is nothing but endless paperwork.”</p><p>“Oh my God,” Chiara exhaled, buoyed beyond her wildest hopes.</p><p>To her surprise, Michael laughed.</p><p>“The Helltrackers,” said the Italian woman suddenly.  “Are they-“</p><p>The angels’ smiled faded.  “No, they were all lost,” Michael said quietly.  “Every last one.”</p><p>“But we were lucky,” Bara chimed in.  “We had you.  You proved to be the Last Helltracker.  Exactly what we needed.”</p><p>“Oh,” Chiara said, stunned.  “I, uh…  well, I’m sorry.”  Quickly, she added, “And I didn’t betray you!  I was-“</p><p>“Hypnotized by Rasputin, we know,” Bara said, shaking her head.  “The slimy Russian actually spent his last few moments on Earth in prayer, confessing his (latest) sins.”  She rolled her eyes.</p><p>“Okay,” said Chiara, relieved.  “Okay.  Look, I’m still so sorry about the Helltrackers.”</p><p>Michael shrugged.  “It may be for the best, anyway.  I’m not sure the Boss ever liked our little private army on Earth.  Maybe this is His will.”</p><p>“Well…” Chiara suggested, “perhaps when you send me back, I could refound the order?  Become the new leader?  Its not like I was doing anything productive with my life, anyway.”</p><p>The angels’ faces sobered.  “Oh,” Bara said warily.  “You don’t know?”</p><p>“Don’t know what?” Chiara asked.</p><p>Michael and Bara exchanged glances.  Then, Michael simply gestured to behind Chiara.</p><p>The Italian woman turned around.</p><p>There, not a meter away, was the old man sitting at his formless desk.  This time, he was directly facing Chiara.</p><p>“Chiara Bianchi?” the old man asked pleasantly, opening the great book before him.</p><p>“Wait…” the young woman said in fear.  “Am I… <strong><em>dead?</em></strong>”</p><p>“Why, yes, I’m afraid so,” replied the old man absently, flipping through pages.</p><p>Chiara’s head whirled.  “I can’t be…  I mean…”  A thousand feelings were rushing her all at once.</p><p>“I’m sorry, girl,” Bara told her softly.  “Your body was consumed in the flames of the <em>Ballare</em>.”  As if it helped, she added, “You didn’t suffer.”</p><p>Stunned beyond belief, all Chiara could manage was, “…mother <strong><em>GODDAMN FUCKER!!!</em></strong>”</p><p>The eyes of the old man and the angels all bulged at the same time.</p><p>“I mean…  Jesus…  I can’t…” mumbled Chiara.  “You guys aren’t serious, are you?”</p><p>“Sorry, Chiara,” Michael said, and he did seem genuinely remorseful.  “If its any consolidation, I can now tell you that you really remind me of your great-great-great-great-many-times-over-great-grandmother.  You have her spunk.”</p><p>“Alright now,” the old man said to the angels, annoyed, “both of you two skedaddle.  Ms. Bianchi and I have serious matters to discuss.”</p><p>The angels nodded.  “Good luck, Chiara,” Bara whispered, briefly squeezing the young woman’s arm.  “We celestials all think what you did was really awesome, you should know that.”</p><p>And then, Michael and Barachiel disappeared into white mist.</p><p>*********</p><p>“Now then,” the old man said, adjusting his silver glasses, “let’s take a look at your life, shall we?”</p><p>Chiara felt sick with fear, even worse than when she’d been captured by the Ninth Levelers.  Her life was a strewn wreckage of horrible deeds:  Lying, theft, grifting, cheating, and miscellaneous cruelty.  She’d lived the criminal’s existence since puberty.  There was no-one on Earth who loved her, nor would miss her now that she was gone.  She had done so little in her life that was praiseworthy.</p><p>The old man read the book in silence, his expression neutral.</p><p>In that moment, Chiara’s panicked mind idly flashed to a memory of childhood:  <em>She was ten years old, and Sister Mary Florence was helping her with the evening chores.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Why I gotta say my prayers?” the young Chiara grumbled, placing dirty dishes into the sink.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You want to go to Heaven, don’t you child?” Sister Mary said kindly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Sure, I guess,” retorted Chiara.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The plump nun smiled knowingly as she began scrubbing a plate.  “Never be too proud to say your prayers, child,” she clucked.  “The Lord doesn’t like pride.  But He smiles on proper humility.”</em>
</p><p>The old man, still reading from the book, frowned.</p><p>“Look,” Chiara said, still sick with worry, “I’ve been a terrible person.  Just a horrible bitch.  I know that.  I…”  She glanced about, wondering what else she might be able to say.  “I…  I’m sure you’re about to send me to the bad place, right?  Well…”</p><p>She grimaced.  “I deserve it.”</p><p>The old man stared at her, surprised.  He passed a bony hand over his mouth, just once, then sat back in his invisible chair.  He studied Chiara with great interest.</p><p>“Tell me something,” the old man said, removing his glasses.  “Let’s pretend for a moment that you had my job.  How would you determine which souls go up, and which go down?”</p><p>Chiara swallowed, wondering this was coming from.  “Uh… I dunno,” she shrugged.  “Doesn’t your book say?”</p><p>“The book contains every fact of your biography,” the old man said, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger.  “But it says nothing about what kind of a person you are.  And what kind of person you are determines if you go upstairs or down.”</p><p>“My biography is nothing but horrible stuff,” Chiara said woefully.  She thought again of Sister Mary Florence.  What if the old nun could see her now?  Tears stung at Chiara’s eyes.</p><p>“Of course,” she ventured quickly, “I did make sure all the Ninth Levelers were sent back to Hell.”</p><p>“You did,” acknowledged the old man.  “That counts for something.”  But he didn’t look more encouraging.</p><p>“Aw, fuck it,” Chiara mumbled, despairing.  “Just send me on down, will you?  Let’s get this over with.”</p><p>The old man cocked his head to one side.  “You still didn’t answer my question,” he said pointedly.  “If you were me, how do you determine who is Saved and who is Damned?”</p><p>His expression was genuinely curious.</p><p>Chiara paused.  “I… always thought…” she said haltingly.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>Frowning a little, the young woman tried again.  “When I was a kid, I once thought that the point of your life was to make the world a little better, you know?  I mean, if I knew I was put on the Earth for a reason, then I’d hope that the world was a slightly better place when I left it.”  She shrugged.  “That, in the end, the sum of everything I did was to bring some good into the universe.”</p><p>The old man considered that.  “Hmm,” he remarked, leaning back in his chair.  “Interesting.  So if a person does exactly a hundred things in their life, and fifty-one of them are positive, but forty-nine of them are not, then that person is Heaven-bound?”</p><p>Chiara shrugged.  “Something like that.”</p><p>“Okay.  So by your own reckoning,” the old man said, “your judgement rests on the net positive that you brought into the world while you were alive?”</p><p>“Yeah,” said Chiara.  “Although in my case, I’m sure the ratio is pretty lopsided in the wrong way.”</p><p>“Most mortals don’t think in such terms,” the old man told her.  “Oh, they <strong><em>think</em></strong> they do.  But when called up to account for themselves, they have no idea why I judge them as I do.”  He smiled lightly.  “Its refreshing to find a person who has put a little thought into this question.”</p><p>“But we both know,” Chiara said heavily, “that there’s wasn’t a lot of good in my life.  Aside from stopping the Ninth Levelers, I never did a damned good thing in my whole fucking life.”</p><p>Those words hung in the air for a moment.</p><p>The old man suddenly sat forward, scooping up his glasses and peering back into the book.  “Well, it says here,” he pronounced, “that your last act was to save eighty young women from a truly horrible fate.  Truly ghastly.  You did it without a thought for yourself.”  He peered at Chiara.  “Why did you do that?”</p><p>“I… dunno,” she replied.</p><p>“Most mortals would have fled the scene,” the old man pointed out.  “Saved themselves.  But you saved them, and it cost you your life.”</p><p>“I…”  Chiara was suddenly lost for words.  While she could remember saving the young women, she had no idea what possessed her to do it.</p><p>“It says here,” the man continued, still reading, “that seven of those women will go on to do very important things later in their lives.  Very important.  So without you, the future would be a much darker place, indeed.”  He fixed his gaze upon Chiara.  “That weighs rather nicely in your favor.  Assuming you still want to balance your good deeds against your bad ones.”</p><p>“Yeah, but…” the Italian woman said stupidly, “I didn’t think that…”</p><p>“I know, I know,” the old man assured her.  “Our most important actions are rarely the planned ones.  Its in times of stress that we make the choices that show us who our true character is.”</p><p>“I see,” Chiara said.  Suddenly, she didn’t feel so terrible.</p><p>“Well, enough chit-chat,” the old man huffed, getting businesslike once again.  “Let’s determine where you will spend eternity, eh, Miss Bianchi?”</p><p>But there was a twinkle in his eye.</p><p>*********</p>
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